


The Story of Ohno

by babyrubysoho



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bitchy Matsujun, Bondage, Comedy, Consensual Kink, Fluff and Crack, Kaibutsu-kun - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Nino POV, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Toys, Supportive Aiba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:12:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 69,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6856066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyrubysoho/pseuds/babyrubysoho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ohno leaves home and begins to discover what he needs for his ideal relationship, while Nino tries to keep up...<br/>Apologies for the title, it's my attempt at a lame theme-based cultural joke, and if anyone gets it, I'll be delighted!</p><p>WARNING: This fic deals extensively with safe, sane and consensual BDSM-related topics, and prejudices against that lifestyle. I've tried to engage with it in a sensitive and thoughtful manner (given that this is mostly a kinky sex fic), but if such themes bother you, you may want to skip this one.</p><p>*Note: I am currently transferring 12 years’ worth of my fic from various murky corners of the Net to AO3. So if this looks familiar, that’s probably why. Either that or I’m just appallingly unoriginal…*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

' _Surrender, serve, and be satisfied._ '  
(Kate Millet, _Sexual Politics_ )  


 

 

This all began when Ohno Satoshi decided: he wanted to be a grown-up. At the age of twenty-nine. And, apparently, he's taking me with him.

 

I reflect on this, a month after Satoshi made his announcement, while we're cooling our heels in a grey little room with no vending machine and waiting to be let into some meeting about _An An_ interviews (after Sho's nosebleed-inducing cover edition, it seems we are in demand). Frankly, I have no idea why he suddenly feels the need to spring into glorious maturity. It's never bothered him before. Still, far be it from me to fathom the intricate thought processes of our illustrious leader.

This adult-making procedure entails, primarily, leaving home. We've all done it, but for Satoshi this is a monumental, unprecedented move, and I can't help but be curious. Maybe he has an actual girlfriend that he'd like to have actual sex with, without running the risk of his mother wandering in to collect his dirty socks.

I dismiss this thought, and kick my feet against the sofa in front of me, where Satoshi is sitting looking exhausted. Whatever the reason, this boy is cutting the apron-strings. He's found a place to rent, all by himself. He's signed the contract, got the key. I'll admit, he couldn't have picked a worse time for it, in the aftermath of our ten year anniversary; the five of us have never been so busy, so wiped out, and for once he could do with all the mothering he can get.

“It's tomorrow, right?” I ask him, gently kicking his leg to make him take notice of me. Sho watches on, concerned, indulgent, because we're all worried for our baby Leader and his stress levels; it's something the four of us are used to, but in the main Satoshi wanders happily through life in a state of perpetual calm, only feeling the pressure when he has to work solo or speak for more than five minutes together.  
The subject under discussion crinkles his eyes at me in a sleepy smile, and nods.

“Did you pack properly?” Sho demands, and he nods again, obediently, forcing back a yawn.

“They're coming to get it all in the morning.” Satoshi sighs and runs a pretty hand across his face, giving me one of those big-eyed baby animal looks that I know perfectly well how to interpret; I scowl, flip my DS closed, and transfer myself to the sofa. He beams tiredly and sinks against me, dark hair tickling my cheek. I roll my eyes at Sho over his head. How is this guy going to cope with the day-to-day requirements of a bachelor existence? I've given up asking Satoshi, he just gets all prickly and offended-manhood; but what does he know about changing ward office? Paying bills? Does he have any _idea_ how long it takes to set up internet service?

Argh. I feel like his mother, and he already has enough mother to go round all five of us. I resolve to sit back and watch this pampered, fuzzy little caterpillar transform into a self-sufficient butterfly. I snort to myself: Satoshi has already fallen asleep at Sho's attempts to illustrate the finer points of trash disposal, and is snoring lightly against my chest. I card my fingers through his hair, grinning. It'll be an entertaining metamorphosis.

 

* * *

  
 

I trek up the stairs to our green room the next afternoon, eager to see the transformation in progress. Once I step in, however, and see Satoshi draped over a chair, looking woebegone...well, it seems to have reached a hiatus.

“Where're the guys?” I ask casually, swinging my bag onto the sofa to stake my claim.

“In Wardrobe.” He waves one hand languidly in a vague, unhelpful direction, already primped and dressed and showing no sign of the moving house that has presumably taken place. “They said you should go down there as soon as you arrived.”

“In a minute.” I park myself on the arm of the sofa. Everything is not going smoothly, I can tell, and I might as well stay and find out what it is, since Jun will undoubtedly still be examining every available shirt in minute, pedantic detail, and I won't even get a look in. “So, are you all moved in?”

“My _stuff_ is in.” Ah. Satoshi sounds evasive. I sigh.

“But?”

He folds his arms defensively.  
“I may have forgotten a few minor details.”

“Like?”

“Like...maybe I forgot to call the electricity guys.” Of course. “...And the water guys.”

“Honestly, you -”

“Don't even say it,” he interrupts me, pout level jacked up to eleven, “I'm doing my best.” I'm about to launch into an explanation of how long it takes to get your water turned on in Tokyo when a make-up girl sticks her head around the door and gives me a death glare, and I am _not_ man enough to cross one of these women when I'm behind schedule.

“Later,” I promise him, pointing a finger as I'm dragged out of the room. Well...I can't say I'm surprised. It's not that I think Satoshi is dumb, I know him too well for that. Just a little slow, maybe, and not used to organising his life without his manager or his mother to point him in the right direction. I keep an eye on him through the recording, nudging him carefully every now and again when he hasn't noticed a question aimed his way. The others hide amused smiles behind their hands.

“You really ok, Leader?” clucks Sho, later, in full mother mode as the others are on their way out.

“It's all sorted out, don't worry about me,” Satoshi reassures them grumpily with a hint of his Maoh glare, looking tired of the question already. Matsujun grins and ruffles his hair, in a fondly patronising way that would have me snapping at his hand if he tried it on me.

Finally they're gone, though not before Aiba has invited himself round for a housewarming before the week is out. I sling my jacket on.

“You want to come and get dinner?” I ask, because Satoshi is suddenly looking very tiny and depressed, huddled there all by himself, and oh, I am weak to that (in a brotherly, platonic kind of way, obviously. Obviously!). Well, that's what you get when you decide to live alone after nearly thirty years of family warmth. He shakes his head; I don't know why I bother, I've asked him to dinner a hundred times, and he's _never_ said yes. Probably thinks I'd make him pay for me, the cheapskate.

“Well, well,” I say airily, grabbing my bag and making as if to leave.

“I don't know if I can do this!” Ah. I turn back round and plump myself down opposite him. His round face is no longer defiant, but deflated and miserable. “My mum's really upset,” he says quietly to the floor. “She doesn't want me to go.”

“It's not like you're emigrating.” I reach out my hand, covering his fingers warmly, though I'm careful to keep my voice dry because I don't want to feed into this self-pitying mood. “You can go home every day if you want.”

“I know.” He looks up at me unwillingly. “I just...what am I going to do all by myself every night?” I hold back the torrent of filthy innuendoes that are just _aching_ to leap from my mouth, and nod understandingly. He's looking more and more worried, biting his lip, his soft voice rising. “I've already screwed up my first day, what else am I going to forget, what else am I going to do wrong?”

“Come on, everyone does it.” I thump him lightly on the shoulder. We're getting into panic territory here, and for absolutely no good reason. “You'll sort it out.”

“But -” Uh-oh. Those pretty eyes are looking damp. What a drama queen.

“Idiot,” I tell him good-naturedly.

“Shut up,” he retorts intelligently. I see a smile breaking out under that pout.

“You shut up.” I grin and push at his shoulder, launching myself at him, and we roll around for a minute in a mock wrestle, crashing onto the carpet. Satoshi begins giggling; he's so easy to distract! He starts wriggling out from under me so I grab his arms, tugging them up behind his back, and I'm laughing too until I yank his right shoulder too hard by mistake, and he lets out a soft cry of pain.

“Ahh, sorry!” I'm about to let go when I notice Satoshi has frozen against me, another little sound dropping from his lips. Did I hurt him that much?

Then, “Nino,” he murmurs, and in an instant the whole situation, the whole flavour of this has changed and for some ungodly reason I'm no longer play-fighting my best friend but am in control of a suddenly yielding body (a completely contrasting sensation, though I can't explain the exact difference), the owner of which is breathing shakily, flooding me with a peculiar tension that sets off warning sensors somewhere in the back of my brain. I suddenly catch little details that would have seemed beneath my notice five seconds ago: the way he's leaning in to his right arm where I'm holding it, even though I must have hurt him, the way the skin on the back of his neck shivers as I exhale a sharp breath, the slender whiplash magic of his body under me.

Fuck. What did I think just then? I freeze too, both of us lying like idiots on the floor of the dressing room, pressed together airtight. What's changed?

Ok. It's not as though I've ever been impervious to the compact, supple charms of Satoshi's body – it's always felt good to touch him, as anyone within a five mile radius of a TV set has probably gathered – but _what the hell_.

“Oh-chan,” I whisper, and he pushes back against me, not even trying to free his arms; the gentle scent of his shampoo, bizarrely, is bothering me almost as much as that perfect ass plastered against my hips. “What...exactly...is happening right now?”

No answer. His hair is tickling my nose. He's not going to help me out here, is he? I sneeze, twist my fingers in his fringe and tug his head back, slightly roughly because I'm a little bit annoyed with myself that I haven't just _let him go_ already. He takes a ragged breath, and now I can see his face, a perfect mix of consternation and something that looks suspiciously like desire. Shit. What's going on? He squeezes his eyes shut beneath my stare and tilts his head back further, baring his throat; if he were an animal, I'd know what that gesture meant: _you win_. But, dim and non-verbal as he may sometimes be, Satoshi is a human being. I wonder...

I roll my weight (such as it is) over on top of him, pinning him to the floor and shoving a knee between his legs (just to test a theory, you understand), his cheek pressed against the carpet. He grits his teeth around a nervous little smile, breathing quickly; I thought I knew all the expressions of pleasure that Satoshi's face could hold, but this is a new one on me. Well, fuck me. Really? Could it be that our little Leader is a DoM, _literally_? My palms are starting to sweat. Hold it together, Ninomiya, and try not to think like a pervy old man!  
...I wonder if he even knows. I manoeuvre myself off him, quite reluctantly because it actually feels extremely pleasurable, his heat radiating into me. He opens his eyes in surprise as I release his arms, and looks up at me, a little dismay and a little confusion in that sweet, dark gaze. I try to look back at him dispassionately, and not stare.

“Oh-chan,” I say softly, calmly, kneeling above him, not touching, “do you...want this?” Satoshi is very dark these days, but I can see the blush even through the deep caramel of his tan. He fixes his eyes on the carpet. “Did you _like_ it,” I persevere, still not making contact because I want him to tell me the truth without any of these dizzying sensations in the way; “when I hurt you?”

His gaze flicks up at me, startled, as if he'd never analysed the idea, which he probably hasn't. For a moment he looks utterly bewildered; then he nods, slowly, thoughtfully.

“Oh,” is all I can think of to say, nice one, Nino, king of the rapier-sharp verbal comeback. Satoshi bites his lip, and for a fleeting second _I_ want to be the one doing it; I can almost taste him, in my imagination, his beautiful mouth soft beneath my lips, my teeth sinking into that perfect pout...

Wait. Just a minute. This can't be right, I can't be feeling this, not me; and not our leader, _Leader_ , for god's sake, so pretty and bread-and-butter and _innocent_ , I don't care how many girls he's banged in karaoke boxes!

This can't happen.

I hop to my feet, sharpish, and reach out a hand for him, trying to look completely neutral while attempting to process the unthinkable fact that _Ohno Satoshi might want me_.

“Come on, upsy-daisy,” I say heartily, tugging him up. His hand is shaking a little, and I let go quickly. I clap him manfully on the back and almost knock him back over, he's so dazed. “You'd better get home,” I tell him, and shake my head at his stricken look. “I mean to your parents'. There's no point staying at your new place tonight, not 'til the water's sorted out.” He blinks under this swift reversal of moods, and I shoo him towards the door; maybe, just maybe, if I don't ever mention this again he'll think he imagined it; it's always possible, with Satoshi. “See you tomorrow, Oh-chan,” I call, flapping my hand about and grinning like a kids' TV show presenter. He shoots me one more plaintive look before the door closes on him.

Holy crap. Thank god for that. I walk very steadily back to the sofa, and then let my legs give up. _What_ did we just do? I try to think about it, but it's just too hard to get my head round. Ohno Satoshi, my clean-living (well, ish), boy-next-door best friend _likes_ to be pushed around (or more; it doesn't bear thinking about!); in fact, if his reaction just now is anything to go by, he could really get off on it. Madness!

As I sit there, biting my thumbnail, I think about all the times we've teased him, all the times I've smacked his cute little butt (oh, and the one Shukudai-kun where he got whipped by that frankly insane chick in black leather). He's always taken it really well, but I just assumed it was his almost unflappable good nature, which makes him all the sweeter, all the more bully-able (it passes the time); I'd never have dreamed it meant anything more! And this...this leads me to the not entirely pleasant thought that he would connect something like that with _me_ , would come to life under _my_ hands. Let's make something clear here: bitch I may be, but actually, I'm not that much of a pushy bastard, and in real life I'm a lot more likely to let Satoshi have everything his own way than not.

But I'm getting off the point. The point is that, if he could get off on _me_ , he could, conceivably, get off on _anyone_. I blink to myself, because this thought strikes me right out of left field: I might be jealous. Jealous for Satoshi! Stupid, I think, before noticing that I'm tearing up the tissue in my pocket neurotically. But imagining my leader like he was just now, pliant and gasping, under anyone else – the crazy SM chick, any of his drama co-stars, _Matsujun_ (god forbid, the DoS king) – creates a tight, niggling discomfort in my stomach. I tell myself it's just concern for his safety, because he's not exactly the most cautious of men. But it might not be.

“I think I'm losing it.” I must be, talking to myself. I heave a massive sigh, chuck my shredded tissue at a poster of Jun's bastard sexy face, and make my own exit, firmly resolved. I've never made the guys' love lives my business before, and I'm not going to start now. It was traumatic enough when I had to hear about Aiba and the gravure idol and the snake ( _and_ the snake handler), and I think I've learnt my lesson: _don't touch your bandmates' sexual practices with a barge pole_.

I unlock my car, sit in a traffic jam for forty minutes, buy a bento and get home, and during that time _not once_ do I think about Satoshi's body trembling beneath mine, or the little nod of his head when I asked him if he wanted me.

Go me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ohno finds life alone harder than he had anticipated, and Nino reluctantly helps.

The next day, when we meet in the corridor while rushing to separate appointments, Satoshi looks unjustifiably smug.

“I'm in,” he says, grinning. I see. This is what passes for a major achievement in the Ohno household.

“Water? Electricity?” I probe, just to check he hasn't forgotten again in the same way he (thankfully) seems to have forgotten about yesterday. He's looking pretty perky, in fact (and quite delicious, in tight, dark jeans and a cute little check shirt, but we're not going down that road, are we, Nino).

“Done and done.”

“What did your mother say?” I ask, tugging his collar straight before backing away to trot off to my dance practice. Satoshi gives me a dirty look.

“She said 'I told you so',” he admits sulkily. Honestly. His mother really does not help him sometimes, she should really -  
No time, gonna be late. I throw him a wave and make my exit.

“Congratulations, you did good, see you tomorrow!” The last thing I see is Satoshi beaming at me, as though I'm the first person to tell him well done. Huh. I guess I could be more supportive, if it means seeing that indecently cute expression again. I resolve to have a word with the other guys about some kind of looking-after-Leader rota, and then forget about it.

At least, until now, now being almost bloody midnight, a fine time for anyone to be calling me. I pause my game and dig my phone out of my pocket. Oh. Of course; it's Satoshi, why am I surprised? I can't see why he'd be calling _me_ in the middle of the night, though, that's what people's mothers are for.

“Oh-chan,” I say, picking up, putting on my grumpy interrupted-game voice. “Do you know what time it is?”

“I know,” he answers, and I sit up and start concentrating because what I'm hearing is not the good-natured calm of his usual placid mumble but something nervous, unsure, apologetic. “I thought you wouldn't be in bed.”

“Mm,” I say non-committally. “Oh-chan, what's the matter?”

“The matter?” Ah, don't even bother, Satoshi, you are no good at dissembling in front of me. Well, I'll just wait. I sit there and twiddle the charms hanging from my phone until he's ready to talk again.

“I can't sleep,” he whispers, and I roll my eyes.

“Oh-chan, you are not twelve, this is not the first night of summer camp.”

“Shut up,” he retorts, quietly. I think I'm upsetting him, and when Satoshi can't take being teased there must be something really wrong. “This place, it's too quiet, it's cold, and I _can't sleep_.”

“Then go home.” I rub a hand across my eyes, because this does not augur well for my night's gaming prospects.

“I can't,” he says stubbornly, and I can picture the little scowl on his round face, cute cute cute. “They'll just say _I told you so_ again.”

“And so?”

“Please come over, Nino.” I let out a sigh. I knew this phone call was going to end with me in my freezing cold car one way or another. “Spend the night with me. Just this once.” Argh. Don't say stuff like that, Satoshi, you dimwit! I don't know if this is a very good idea, not after yesterday, not since... But I told myself not to think about that. And he does sound genuinely lonely. I grumble at him for a few more minutes, just so he fully appreciates me sacrificing my warm armchair for his problems. He tells me his new address again, and he sounds so grateful that I can't help but soften up.

“I'm coming,” I say with a groan as I heave myself out of my chair. “I'm putting the phone down now, Oh-chan. Ok? Ok? Ok.”  
  
  


* * *

  
 

He answers his door in sweat-pants and tshirt, bed clothes, fumbling with the door-chain that he isn't used to yet.

“Nino!” That crinkle-eyed smile makes up for a thirty minute drive in about two seconds. I step inside and proceed to look about nosily, not waiting for him to give me a tour. Well. I can't say much about the apartment as yet. It's new, it looks reasonably spacious (more than mine), fairly standard in all respects. But Satoshi's belongings are still in boxes, and the living room looks bare, chilly, only the furniture suggesting that anyone lives here at all. No wonder he can't relax.

“Thanks,” Satoshi mumbles, following me sheepishly, silent on bare feet. He looks so tired. Well, everyone is exhausted for the first couple of days in a new place, but more than that, he looks lost, as if this is someone else's house that he's too nervous to be at home in.

“Yeah, yeah, you owe me, Leader.” I dump my bags down by the sofa, set boxes of takeout on the coffee table (I am so thoughtful! Who could accuse me of being cheap?). “You didn't eat, did you.” He shrugs vaguely, and I click my tongue at him. The last few weeks, all this organising on top of the work we're doing, Satoshi has been very absent-minded, and we're worried he's getting thin again.

“Hmm.” I eye him critically.

“I'm not really hungry,” he insists. I dismiss his protests with a wave, and look him up and down, pinching his brown face.

“We don't want to lose these chubby cheeks again,” I tell him, and he gives me that adorable scowl, because although he's used to me (and Aiba, come to that) performing semi-regular nutrition checks on him, it still irritates him enough to be entertaining. I run my hands down his neck, over his shoulders. He is a bit skinnier, I'm sure; Satoshi has never been as weedy as me, but he's getting there, I think. He has his eyes shut patiently, waiting resignedly for me to finish amusing myself.

“I thought so,” I tell him severely, pinching his ribs. I glide my fingers over his waist, quiet now. Satoshi is silent too, and with that tired, late-night clarity I examine his face, so solemn and pretty in front of my own, marking every sign of exhaustion and stress on those gentle features. Poor Leader. I sit myself down on the edge of the sofa, not pausing in my examination, and now all I can see is Satoshi's stomach, also skinny. Out of habit, long-ingrained, I slide my hands around his hips to the perfect curves of his behind, giving it a friendly squeeze. Ooh, that feels good. Satoshi's ass should be a national treasure, and with the soft velveteen of his sweatpants gliding beneath my fingers it's just...wow. Another squeeze for good measure, tugging him towards me just a bit.

“Mm...”  
I glance up at that little noise; Satoshi has half opened his eyes and is gazing down at me, lips slightly parted, cheeks pink, his expression both unsure and like a cat being stroked and hoping for more. My hands freeze. Whoops. What did I tell myself I wasn't going to think about earlier? And here I am, inadvertently teasing him like a total floozy and he's making that _face_ , the same asbefore, all apprehensive and wanting. Should I say something? No, I can't. This is so fucking embarrassing!

“Ok,” I say briskly, giving him a final slap on the butt and reaching past him for the food, “you'll live. Now eat up.” Satoshi blinks, slowly, then gives himself a shake and seems to wake up, sitting himself down a little way from me and grabbing some chopsticks. He eats in silence, while I fill up the void with a one-sided conversation of (probably) gibberish, all the while thinking _bugger, I should have had Sho come over instead_.

“Go to bed,” I tell him when I've run out of crap to talk about and Satoshi is yawning in his corner of the sofa. He looks at me earnestly. Damn. For the first time in my life I'm having trouble interpreting his expressions. I hope he's just waiting for more instructions; I have a split-second vision of his bed (I saw it during my earlier snooping), the two of us sleeping, his warm limbs tangled with mine, and push it aside. Now, it's not as though I've never shared a bed with Satoshi before, especially when we were younger; but it's been years since those days of shared room tours and late-night TV broadcasts, and some cautious, warning thought tells me that it would _not be the same_ if we were to try it now.

“See you in the morning,” I say, leaving no room for argument, swinging my legs up onto the sofa as though I couldn't imagine a more comfortable sleeping arrangement. He gives me another silent look, and I can sense those elegant hands want to creep towards me. Then he shrugs.

“Night,” he says softly. He gets up and pads off to the adjacent room, and I heave a sigh of relief. Never again. I can't stay here again, because _I do not want to fuck Ohno Satoshi_ , dammit, however yielding and sweet it might be (shut up, shut up, stop thinking about it!), and this momentary blip in our steady relationship will not be smoothed over if I spend too much time around him. I have to let him work out his life issues by himself. Yes. Well, that's that.

I thump the cushion beneath my head into some semblance of softness, and try to sleep. I can hear soft breathing from the other room.

I don't sleep.  
  
  


* * *

 

The next morning I get up at about six, sour and sleep-deprived. I drag myself off the couch and stretch. Ow. I've seldom spent a more uncomfortable night. Thank you, Satoshi. I grab my things and tiptoe quietly to the door of his room; he's still asleep, arms and legs sprawled across the bed, face buried in his oh-so-soft looking pillows. I grumble to myself. Why do I put myself through this discomfort?

I stop off home to change clothes and wash, and then it's time for work again (Utaban this morning and then off on our own this afternoon). I frantically guzzle black coffee and sports drinks in the hope of keeping myself functioning and my banter levels up, but I am not in the best condition right now. Satoshi wanders in, looking well-fed, refreshed and as chipper as his nature allows him to be in the morning. Jun and Sho look approving, but the contrast is hacking me off royally. Recording begins; recording goes on, and on. Hurry up, Nakai, I want a nap. Satoshi seems his usual self, dim and play-fighting as is his Utaban role.

“Nino.” Satoshi bounces up to me after filming, where we are granted a quick lunch break before we're dragged off somewhere else. I grunt at him and continue stabbing half-heartedly at my bento. He looks so happy, so _awake_ , dammit. “Will you stay over again?” he asks, metaphorical tail wagging hopefully. “I slept so well with you there. Just 'til I settle down, you know?”

“No,” I say quickly, trying to sound casual about it, remembering my resolution. “I've...got someone coming over tonight.”

“...Oh.” He practically droops in front of me, and I feel a clutch of guilt, which is quite undeserved, thank you very much. Then he nods and gives a little smile, ducking his head so I don't have to see those mournful eyes.

“Anyway,” I continue, opening a random magazine and shoving it in front of my face, “what happened to this independence thing? It's important that you sort this out by yourself,” I say categorically, as if I'm some kind of expert.

“I get it. Ok,” he concedes after a minute. He gives my head a brief pat, as if to say _no hard feelings_ ; then his manager calls and he walks off. I watch him go, his back straight, determined hands. Fuck. He is so cute. I feel like a prize jerk, but what else am I supposed to do to keep these odd feelings at bay? Satoshi will be much better served if I leave him alone. Once he gets used to living by himself, he'll even out again, and I won't have to field any more of his appealing glances, any more of my own thoughts which are skirting dangerously close to the erotic. Then everything will be the way it was.  
  
  


* * *

 

 

I say this, but the next few days are hard for me, watching Satoshi's face revert back into weariness, catching him napping in green rooms because he obviously can't sleep at night. He's being so _normal_ with me that it feels like he's deliberately kicking me off the moral high ground; I feel small, selfish, and at the same time I know this is good for him, because he does seem to be managing, even if he's miserable about it.

“Oi!” My self-reproaching thoughts are happily interrupted by Aiba, who sticks his head around the door, one arm in and one out of the most hideous shirt I've ever had the misfortune to clap eyes on. I glance down at my own cardigan thankfully: it may look like it came out of last month's Marie Claire fashion pages, but in comparison it's the most restrained and manly garment imaginable. Aiba looks unfazed by his fashion nightmare, and comes up to barge his way into my space.

“Go help Leader, will you?” he says, stretching so I'm forced out of my seat. “He's stuck.”

“You help him,” I mutter, getting up reluctantly.

“As if I could.” Aiba grins unashamedly. “I'd ask Sho-chan, but he's not here and you're second brainiest.” I refuse to respond to such flattery. “If not,” continues Aiba, brightly, “I'm sure Jun would _love_ to help out Leader, all friendly-like.”

“All right, all right. I'm going.” Damn Masaki, he knows just how to push my buttons.

I find Satoshi in the empty make-up room, sitting awkwardly in a hard chair with a pile of paper in his lap. He looks up at me, and smiles wanly.

“What _are_ you doing?” I demand, staring at the stack. He shrugs, all fake nonchalance.

“Home insurance, change of address form, cable application...you know, stuff.” Poor Satoshi. Filling out forms has never been his strong suit; he can usually cope with one a day, max. I come up to him and look cautiously over his shoulder.

“All right. Where are you stuck?”

“'m not,” he says, yawning hugely. Ah, we're back to being defensive, it seems.

“Don't be silly,” I override him, “let me see.” He quickly relents, and I take the pen from his hand. This is fairly complicated, actually; but I am king of moving house, having done it five times in an effort to find a place where no-one recognises me, and these forms are no match for my prowess.

“Are you watching, Oh-chan?” I say sharply; Satoshi's head is nodding gently, which I suspect is more him falling asleep than him agreeing with me. I give him a light thump on the back. “Come on, you need to learn how to do this.” For a second he glares at me; then he seems to wilt. He points at the current form, and I can see his hand is shaking with weariness.

“I don't even know what that _means_ ,” he says helplessly. I peer at the string of kanji, and sigh. “Let's go through it again.”

“This is useless, isn't it.” Satoshi throws up his hands tiredly, and the whole stack of paper falls from his lap to the floor. He gives a hopeless little laugh. I sigh again, then hunker down to start picking it up and putting it back in some kind of order. Above me, Satoshi sinks his face in his hands. “Sorry, Nino, I'm sorry, I'm really trying, honestly...”

I look up at him; his voice is quivering. This guy...how anyone can make a mountain out of such a tiny molehill is beyond me, but that voice really just _does_ it for me. I feel the swell of a ridiculous protective urge, generally applied only to puppies, bunnies and particularly ditzy girls; and then with great clarity I understand something, something I've always known and never bothered thinking about before: Satoshi was _made_ for this: to be cared for; guided; gently bullied; it's his nature, as much as Jun's is to lead. And I realise something else: more than anything, I do not ever want to see him as unhappy, as lonely as he is now. I shake my head, reach up to rest my hands on his knees.

“Oh-chan.” No response. “Oh-chan, quit crying.”

“I'm not.” He's a crap liar, too. I take a deep breath.

“Let me look after you.” Hey! Hey, mouth, what the hell are you saying?? To my own surprise I keep speaking; he lowers his hands and gives me an astonished stare. “I mean it. I'll take care of everything, I'll stay with you, just...stop looking so bloody miserable.” Those pretty hands come down to grip mine, disbelievingly, all defensiveness stripped away.

“You...what?” he says, gaping at me. Very nice, Satoshi, very articulate. I glower at him. I cannot believe what I just said.

“I've had enough of you walking around with a face like a wet weekend,” I grumble in justification. “It's putting me off my lunch.”

“ _Nino_ ,” he breathes, and my heart flip-flops in a way it has no business doing, however sweetly his brown eyes are glowing. “I'll do all the cooking and _everything_ ,” he assures me eagerly, hands still tangled with mine.

“Oh no you will not,” I retort, alarmed. Satoshi can cook basic dishes, it's true, but I'd rather live on my current diet of takeout and bento than suffer cha-han and burnt omu-rice more than once a week. He looks at me sadly, and now I feel bad for refusing something he's offered in good faith. I wonder if Satoshi is really a master manipulator? He seems to have learned the art of making me feel like a bastard with one blink. On second thought, maybe that's giving him too much credit...

“So...what shall I do?” he asks insistently. “I want to do things for you too...or it's not fair.”

“Be happy,” I tell him. Am I really being this corny? “I'll _make_ you happy.” Apparently I am.

Satoshi releases his grip on my fingers, and I feel an absurd disappointment. Then his arms are around me, his face buried in my neck like it has been a thousand times, and I have no cause to shiver but I do, his cheek damp against my skin, the smell of his hair bringing back the other day in a vivid, disturbing flash.

“Thanks,” he whispers. “You won't regret it.” Well I'm not sure about that.

“Just 'til you can look after yourself,” I warn him, repeating it to make sure he takes it in. He nods, and I let myself hug him back.

What have I just agreed to?


	3. Chapter 3

Living with Satoshi is not really what I imagined it would be (although admittedly I've spent most of the last week trying very hard _not_ to imagine anything at all, especially as pertains to showers, beds, and the inexplicable whipped cream in the back of the fridge). For one thing, I hardly ever see him, except at work: our schedules overlap a lot (and when they do, he seems delighted), but we both work late into the evening, usually in different places: Satoshi has meetings about his upcoming drama, and I'm filming like crazy and darting back to my apartment for clothes and games. Half the time, by the time I crawl in at night he's gone for dinner with his family, or is already asleep in his room with the door firmly shut (something I insisted on the first night I began staying here; I told him he snores, and it seems to have done the trick – that and hauling my futon to the very far corner of the living room).   
  
Otherwise it's vice-versa, and the few minutes we're actually in the same place at the same time are taken up with filling in the interminable forms, showing him how to argue with phone salesmen and teaching him _not_ to open the door to Jehovah's Witnesses. I'm constantly amazed that Satoshi lacks this basic knowledge, but there it is; he's almost as stressed as he was before I came to stay. So much for domestic paradise.

I come in fairly early on this particular evening, kick my shoes off and am pleasantly surprised to see Satoshi's nondescript sneakers already in place.

“Oi!” I call, hefting my grocery bags. Satoshi appears promptly, in lounge wear, and beams at me. “Take these, will you,” I instruct, and he takes the shopping from me obediently and trots off to the little kitchen. Huh. This is kind of nice. I slide my slippers on and follow him.

“Seeing as you're here,” I tell him, bumping him with my hip so I can fit into the tiny workspace, “you can have dinner with me if you want.”

“I want.” Satoshi is already rummaging through the bags. “What is it?”

“Katsu.” I slap his hands away. I have an order that I work in, you know, you pest!

“What shall I do?” he asks eagerly, and I've never seen someone look so excited at the prospect of receiving cooking instructions. He gives me a look, which would generally have any person not endowed with my magnificent self-restraint stuffing him into a frilly apron and demanding that he become their personal domestic goddess. I know better, however.

“Remember what I said?” I remind him, removing the eggs from his hands before they come to grief. “No cooking for Oh-chan.”

“But -”

“Everything has its place,” I say pedantically, elbowing him out of the way. Am I turning into Jun? “And yours is not in here. If you want to be helpful, go hook up my Wii.”

“Yes, sir,” replies Satoshi resignedly, and slouches off.

 

After dinner I go out on the balcony to call my sister, who finds the idea of me teaching life skills most amusing. When I get back in Satoshi is nowhere to be seen, though I hear the sound of plates clattering in the kitchen.

“What're you doing?” I call suspiciously.

“I'm going to wash up,” he yells back. I sit myself down, shaking my head, and switch on my game. Wow, he set it up right.

“You have a dish-washer, Oh-chan,” I remind him over my shoulder. “You don't have to do anything, I'll sort it all out later.” I catch some soft grumbling in the background, which is soon submerged in the sweet sounds of Monster Hunter.

I don't know just how long has passed before I emerge from my field of concentration briefly, alerted by movement. Satoshi appears, walking right in front of the screen.

“Get out the way, Oh-chan!” I scream frantically, craning to see around him, because I am kicking this monster's butt right now and -

“Hey!!” I yelp as the screen goes dark behind him. He switched it off? Bastard! “Move,” I growl, but he doesn't, just stands there and looks at me until I actually notice him. Fuck. He _is_ wearing an apron. Not a frilly one, but still...! I wait for him to get out of the way, because I can't really be bothered to get up and move him myself, but he doesn't. What he does do is sink to his knees in front of me, totally matter-of-factly, and run his hands up my thighs.

Ahh. I see what's happened. I've obviously fallen asleep; this is a dream. But no, I wouldn't put him in that apron, and he wouldn't be frowning at me so solemnly.

“Whoa!”

He ignores me, leaning forward, between my knees; then the tips of his fingers brush over my crotch. I'm aware that I just shrieked like a girl who's seen a spider in the bath, but _shitshitshit_! What in the hell does he think he's doing?! I drop the Wii remote like lightning and grab at his wrists, gripping them tight, and he gives me a little breathless smile.

“What the fuck, Oh-chan!!” I roar at him, “stop messing around!” He leans back a little away from my high-volume assault, then moves forward again to rub his nose teasingly over the front of my pants; I can feel the exhalation of his warm breath, and I gasp; if I weren't a twenty-first century male, I think I might be in for a little swoon. I let his hands go, since they're really not the problem any more, and grasp his round chin in my fingers, raising his head so he has no choice but to meet my eyes.

“What are you doing?” I ask very softly, hoping it will have more effect. He purses his lips determinedly, and I think he _likes_ this, likes looking up at me.

“I love you looking after me, Nino,” he informs me, and is that a little shake I hear in his voice, too? “I want to help too, only you won't let me. But I can take care of you like _this_.”   
Ok, that should sound like a line from some cheesy porno; so why is it so sexy, and why am I getting hard?! Maybe it's those eyes, shy and nervous and so utterly serious about doing this.

“Ok,” I croak desperately, clutching at straws, “you can do the washing up if you want! Go ahead, do the cooking, too!”

“...No,” murmurs Satoshi thoughtfully, troublesome fingers on the button of my pants. He ducks his chin away from my strengthless grip, and bows his head, leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss against my growing hard-on, I can feel the heat of his lips through the thick fabric and I think I'm gonna lose it. “I think this is better,” he continues in a muffled voice, and every movement of his mouth is like a little torture; I hear myself let out a groan, and I'm not going to make him stop now, am I, let's be realistic, however bad an idea it is.   
My hands drop to my sides, and Satoshi makes a pleased little noise and begins to tug at my zipper, sliding it down with uncharacteristically clumsy fingers, pushing superfluous fabric aside. I feel a chill as the air hits me, then the warmth of one of his beautiful hands, fingertips calloused from all that fishing. I let out another stupefied moan and I catch his intake of breath, but before I can think of anything to say he tilts his head and slides his lips hungrily along the underside of my cock. I think I see stars, metaphorically, at least.

“Mmph.” Satoshi makes a thoughtful sound and repeats the action, letting the tip of his tongue flick out to tease the sensitive skin. He steers it carefully around the head, pausing at every noise I make as if logging it all away; then he closes his mouth over me, tight, and for a second it's an airless vacuum of pleasure before he draws away again. He looks up at me; I think he's as turned on as I am, if that's possible, his pupils dilated and his eyes two shining pools of darkness.

“Nino,” he whispers, his long fingers closing around me, exploring. “Tell me what's good.” He kisses the tip of my cock, eyes fixed on me, and when he sees my reaction it turns into a smile. As if I can tell him anything right now! He shrugs understandingly, then turns his attention away from my face, and I'm enveloped in the heat of his mouth once again and gritting my teeth to stop myself crying out. He begins to move, slowly, slowly, and I twist my fingers in his hair, hard, making him whine softly; I'm assuming he likes it because that's the same sound I heard that day in the green room, albeit a little unclear. He lets himself up for air a moment, and then I'm sliding deeper, and he's going so slowly I know this can't be easy; if I were to think about it rationally (which I'm not), I'd say that technically he isn't all that good, as though it's something he's seen done but has never done himself. But it still feels jaw-droppingly magical.

“Oh-chan...faster?” I manage. Well, he did ask me to tell him what I wanted. He nods beneath my hands, and my fingers dig painfully into his scalp as he speeds up, he's making more noise now and it's nearly as erotic as the physical sensations, quiet sounds of effort, arousal, maybe discomfort but it's impossible to tell. As I get closer I find myself pushing his head down lightly, encouraging him to take me deeper, and when I finally come it's in the back of his throat, hearing his shocked moan; his hands are fisted against my thighs, muscles moving below my fingers as I support his chin.

“Mmnh...” He takes a deep, careful breath through his nose; he's ok, he's not panicking, so I keep his head pushed down until I'm done. When I let him up he begins coughing lightly, nose scrunched up in a way that is sinfully cute, and still manages to plant two last friendly kisses on my cock before he kneels up. He wipes his mouth casually on the back of his sleeve and tucks me away neatly, because my own limbs have temporarily stopped working.

“Thanks,” he says, voice ragged, but he's giving me a sweet little smile and fuck it, I want to reach out for him, I want to wrap my arms around him, crush him to me and hold him, because I've never wanted anyone so much _after_ having come. But he dodges my flailing attempt, pats me on the knee, then levers himself up and wanders away. By the time I manage to get to my feet he's in his room, and the door, just as I so foolishly requested, is tight shut. I stand staring at it for some time. I suppose I should be feeling...that this was a mistake. But I don't. I don't know _what_ I think.

I, Ninomiya Kazunari, am officially fucking confused.


	4. Chapter 4

I revise what I said last time. Living with Satoshi is almost exactly as I had imagined, and had strenuously planned _not_ to happen. Well. That's half right, anyway. To summarise, I have been staying in his apartment for three weeks now. We have got internet; we have got cable TV; I have dragged his little ass down to Shibuya ward office inside the two-week limit, and we have collectively filled out enough forms to compete with Jun's drama scripts for quantity. I give him his schedule, I wake him up, I veto his wardrobe. What else? Oh yes. On a semi-regular basis, and always when I'm least expecting it, Satoshi drops to his knees and gives me an absolutely magnificent blowjob. Surprised? Not half as much as I was.

“Oh-chan,” I groan as he whisks himself away from me for the tenth time in a row, “where are you going?” And, as usual, he gives me no answer but goes to have an irritatingly long bath and ignore my frustrated questions. That's where the reality is differing from my guilty fantasies: Satoshi won't let me touch him. I'll admit, I don't think any of this is a good idea, but if it _is_ going to happen I'd quite like to get my hands on that perfect body for a change. But...I can't push him into anything he doesn't want to do. This is his house after all. And so we go on, working normally, Satoshi paying no attention when I gaze at him lustfully, only jumping on me when I'm busy with something else, performing increasingly amazing fellatio and then wandering off.

In conclusion, I can't quite work out whether we're having a sexual relationship or not. Maybe Satoshi sees this as...payment for services rendered? It appears that in ten years I have barely scratched the surface of our Leader's strangeness.  
  
  


* * *

 

 

“What's up, Nino?” asks Jun lazily, as I kick my heels impatiently against the mirrored wall of the dance studio. I want to go home, you mad workaholic! I've done this routine about three thousand times this afternoon, it feels like, and I _know it already_. It's after nine o'clock, too late to cook dinner. God only knows what Satoshi has found to eat.

“You look like you need to get laid,” comments Jun, perceptive bastard, as I pick the label off my bottled water.

“Is that an offer?” I say snidely.

“Only in your sweetest dreams.”

“Fuck off then.” I am, indeed, particularly frustrated today, because our schedules this week have been maddeningly hectic and I haven't even had time for self-gratification, never mind sitting still long enough for Satoshi to make up his mind to sort me out. Not that it's remotely his responsibility to keep me satisfied, but...oh, bloody hell. I don't know. Since this...whatever it is...began between us, seeing him every day without feeling that touch is unbearable.

Jun snorts, and sashays off to flail around the dance floor. I do something unforgivable, and sneak out while the choreographer's back is turned, escaping to my car before anyone can bawl me out for leaving early. Thank god it's Friday.

“Ohhhh-chan!” I call, leaping through the door and hurrying to the magic sofa spot. No answer. No, no, he can't be asleep already! I flop against the back of the sofa. Come on, Satoshi, I need it tonight...come in and read the mood!

Just as I'm thinking this, the bathroom door opens and my little life-saver emerges. God. He's towelling off his hair, glistening with water like a cheesy romance novel cover, wearing only those lovely velveteen sweat-pants that feel _so good_ to touch...I want to touch him. Now. Look busy, Nino. I glance away nonchalantly, at the TV, which is typically set to the fishing channel, boring, boring. Out of the corner of my eye I see Satoshi smile shyly, hungrily. Yesss, he's coming over. Tonight he is really...fabulously hot. It's no good, I don't care any more, I _want him_.

“Hi, Nino,” he says sweetly, and sinks down in front of me. “Did you have a nice day?”

“It's better now,” I tell him thickly. He smiles again, and while his eyes are scrunched up happily I shoot my hand out and grab him by the hair. He gasps, eyes flying open.

“Got you.” I tug him upwards, and he has to obey or lose a handful of hair. His eyes are wide, astonished, but his body yields easily to my encircling arm and he falls against me; his heart is beating so fast! I tug him a little higher and he winces, eyes dropping closed, his whole frame languid and hot against me as if he's been waiting for nothing but this all his life. He wants this, he wants it, and I close the gap and kiss him, hard, his lips are so soft and his mouth opens beneath mine with perfect compliance, making me shiver despite my mental preparations.

“Nino -”   
I give him time to take one quick breath, then lock my mouth on his again, swallowing his moan as I let my free hand wander, down his throat, pinching at his hard little nipples. I can't believe he's letting me do this, god, Satoshi, you are magnificent! I shift my weight and tumble him over on the sofa. His hands reach for me, but I grab his wrists, pinning them above his head. Pulling back for a moment, I take the time to just look at him, his round, flushed face suffused with apprehensive pleasure, his skin that's darker than mine but still amusingly pale compared to his tanned limbs. Feeling unbelievably daring I snake one hand down to those soft pants, brushing teasingly against him; ahh, he's getting hard, it's not just me. He wriggles against me until I push down on his flat stomach; then he lies quiescent beneath me.

Wait a minute. He's grinning at me.

“What's so funny?” I demand, squeezing his erection lightly through the fabric, and again I get the feeling that this is all a dream, being able to do such things to Satoshi. The smile disappears, but he still looks like a cat that's got the cream. He shakes his head.

“You _wanted_ me to do this, didn't you!” I accuse him in a flash of inspiration. “You were waiting for me to snap!” He gazes at me innocently, and I slip my hand beneath his pants to touch him properly.

“ _Ahh_...I was,” he admits breathlessly, and I kiss him again, not stilling my hand.

“Why didn't you _ask_ , then, you freak?” For god's sake, I could have saved myself weeks of doubt and frustration, you moron.

“You still...don't get it, do you,” he manages, arching into my hand, sweat gleaming on his narrow chest. “...What I want.”

“Well I won't if you don't tell me!” I snap.

“I don't want...to have to _tell_ you.” He swallows heavily. “You asked me before, remember?” he breathes as I nuzzle his neck, speeding up my hand until he can barely string a sentence together. “What I...wanted, what I _liked_.”

“Just _tell me_ ,” I order with a growl, because I've never been any good at guessing games, especially not with someone as random as Satoshi. I slide my mouth down his chest, his skin hot and damp beneath my lips, and latch on to his left nipple, worrying it gently with my teeth until he lets out a moan of genuine appreciation. Then I stop my hand, pinning him down with a knee so he can't try for any more contact.

“Please!”

“Tell me.”

“...I want you to look after me,” he whispers at last, turning bright red now. Well, isn't that just what I have been doing? I open my mouth to point this out, but he hasn't finished. “I want you to take care of me, protect me, order me, do whatever you like with me, hurt me if you want!” His eyes are fixed on mine, willing me to understand. “Do you get it, Nino?!”

I do not get it. But it proves Satoshi is as confused as I am, and isn't deliberately leading me on. I kiss him lightly, encouragingly, his lips silky and warm beneath mine.

“Good boy.” I replace my ministering hand and he kisses me back, pliant and tractable and radiating warmth into me as I take him to the edge, and he bites his lip as he comes, blissfully, shuddering under my hands.

“Stay,” I tell him, and roll off the sofa to fetch his towel from the floor. I strip off his sweat-pants, which now need washing again, and gently clean him up (after taking a long, appreciative perv at his beautiful nudity), kissing him softly every now and then because I can't believe I've spent the last ten years _not_ kissing him (well, mostly), can't believe I ever thought it would be a bad idea. He makes a determined grab at my pants, but I shoo him away.

“No. You've had enough for now.”

“But it's my _job_ ,” he argues quietly, and I grin at him.

“I said no. You need some sleep, you know, for your actual job? You have to be up before seven.” I need to think about this, about what the hell we're getting into here. He looks dissatisfied but nods resignedly, and opens his arms engagingly. Well, that I don't mind.

“I already said I'll look after you,” I tell him musingly, folding him in an embrace, one hand buried in his soft, damp hair and the other tracing the smooth lines of his back. I feel him nod against my shoulder. “And I can organise you. But Oh-chan,” I continue, pulling lightly at his hair, because this bit is worrying me, “I want you to do what _you want to do_. Not what I want to do.” Silence. “...And I really don't think I could ever hurt you,” I tell him seriously. I must admit, the thought gives me a curious tingle, but the line between what goes on in your head and what you could actually _do_ to someone is murky, at best.

“It would make me happy,” is all he says, as if it were that simple.

“You don't know that.”

“I do.”   
I keep quiet after that, and let him sit with me for a while, feeling his heartbeat slow to normal in my arms, before packing him off to sleep, and he's so worn out with the events of the evening that he goes without a fuss. I don't tell him this, but I won't share his bed. Not until I've worked out what he really wants, and whether he even understands it himself; and whether I could possibly live up to his expectations.

I think...this just isn't me.


	5. Chapter 5

Let's take a hypothetical situation.  
Say you have a friend; a best friend, someone you've been with pretty constantly for years. Hell, you might be _such_ a good friend that you're generously living with him. And then, one day, you grab him and tumble him over with not so much as a by-your-leave, and make him come. You weren't even drunk. So where does that leave you?

No, I can't work it out, either, which is why Satoshi and I have been treading very carefully around each other these last couple of weeks. It appears that I might now be in a relationship with him, but exactly what that entails is a bit of a mystery, because it turns out that our Leader is a lot more passive by nature than everyone supposes (yeah, that's a _lot_ ) and he doesn't like _asking_ for anything. He's perfectly receptive: we spend our rare moments at home tangled together, sticky and warm under the heating, and I love it; kissing him, stripping him, exploring the gentle curves and angles of his slender body, which I thought I knew so well and which reacts in ways I never would have imagined before this began; and obviously I also love it when he gets me off.

The thing is...I don't know if this is what he actually _wants_. He doesn't try and initiate it himself any more, and while he seems to enjoy these little sessions I sometimes catch an expression that I can't quite read, as if there's something missing for him in my soft caresses and kisses. Ok. If I'm honest with myself, I probably know what it is. I'm being tentative, gentle, _of course_ I am, who wouldn't be, when the status of our relationship is as new and fuzzy as this? And Satoshi wants, or thinks he wants, someone who can be rough with him. And I can't. Why would I hurt him, why would I make him feel bad when he hasn't done anything wrong?

Argh. Stupid Satoshi. However did you get it into your pretty head that this was what you needed?  
  
  


* * *

  
 

On this particular night, however, I am a happy bunny; it's Saturday, work is finished, and we each have a full day off that lines up with the other's. This is rare, and I think we might as well get out of the house and do something healthy together. Aiba, also free, has invited Satoshi and I to the zoo, and since the zoo also has rides I have agreed for the both of us.

“This is actually going to be fun,” I tell Satoshi, who is draped across me in his pyjamas, head in my lap, engaged in a mild sulk because I wouldn't let him put the shopping away (how many times do I have to tell him, I have my _own system_?).

“You're looking forward to it, aren't you?” he says sleepily, eyes half closed as my fingers thread through his silky, unstyled hair.

“Yup. I can't remember the last time we had any fresh air.” I kiss him lightly, then wiggle out from under him. “Come on, go to bed, you're nodding off.” Satoshi gives a huge yawn, and stretches, baring a thin sliver of flat stomach that just looks so...No, no time for that tonight.

“What time do I have to get up?”

“We're going to meet Masaki at ten,” I inform him, heading for the bathroom (one good thing about living with Satoshi: I never have to fight for it, his bathing routine is perfunctory at best). “So I'll wake you at eight-thirty.”

“Mm.” He looks after me for a minute; then I close the door and get on with brushing my teeth. He trots in when I'm done, performs his own ablutions and then wanders off to bed. I shut his door myself, retreat to my futon, and lie awake for a while, pondering on...well, what I always ponder on lately. This is sweet, this is fun, and I can't imagine why Satoshi wouldn't be satisfied. Without finding the answers, I fall asleep.  
  
  


* * *

 

Now, I'm not a particularly heavy sleeper, but my body does enjoy the luxury. Hence, the next morning I don't wake up until nine.

“Shit!” Why didn't my alarm go off?? I peer at my watch and stumble heavily out of bed, run to the bathroom, and then knock on Satoshi's door. “Oi! Wake up, Oh-chan, we'll be late! I'll make breakfast, so just get your clothes on!”  
No answer. Huh. Satoshi sleeps deep, but he's generally very good at waking up at a moment's notice.

“Oh-chan!” Still nothing. I open his door with a bang, and...Well. That would explain it. He's not bloody here! I barge in, peer inside his wardrobe (in case by some freak chance he got stuck in there), then barge out again. No, he's not in the kitchen, either, and when I look in the genkan his shoes are gone. Hmm. Did he go to the combini for breakfast? Why didn't he wake me up too? Maybe -

It's at this point that I notice the hall cupboard is slightly ajar. No. Oh, Satoshi, I know there's no _way_ you would have done that, because _you_ know I would kill you and feed you to the neighbour's cat. I yank open the door, and peer into the cupboard. It's empty; just a few spare lengths of line and some long waders to tell the tale of Ohno Satoshi's terrible betrayal.

That's right. He's fucking gone fishing.

He must have been up at the crack of dawn to catch me in deep sleep and disable my alarm clock without waking me up. The little...! I storm back into the living room and dive blindly around, roaring and snorting to myself until I locate my phone. I press his speed-dial shortcut, slap it against my ear. It's ringing. Still ringing. Pick up, Satoshi, so I can verbally slaughter you! What's this? Ah, his answering message, typically vague. I wait impatiently for the beep.

“Ohno Satoshi! Get your little butt back here right now, you Judas!” God, I sound as if I'm about to have a heart attack. “You knew I was looking forward to this! You...I don't care if you're in the middle of the fucking Pacific Ocean, call me!”

I crack the phone shut and slam it down on the table. Wait a minute, Nino. Could you possibly be over-reacting? No, I didn't think so. I pick up the phone again, and this time it rings only three or four times before I hear the dial tone. I gape at my phone. He hung up on me! The nerve!

Suffice to say, when I meet Aiba an hour later I am not the best of companions, but typically he takes it in his stride. Aiba is so refreshing; nothing fazes his good mood when he's decided to enjoy himself.

“So he went fishing,” he shrugs as we lean over the wall of the koala enclosure, our breath steaming. “He didn't have to come, it's not like _the law_. Let him do what he wants on his day off.”

“Hmph.” I observe the koalas sourly. Cute, fluffy little buggers. It says here they're not actually bears, what do you know...

“God, they're adorable,” chuckles Aiba, and then, returning to the subject, “so Leader's all sorted out in his new place, I hear. Used to it and all that.” I grunt non-committally. “So what is it you're actually _doing_ there?” he continues blithely. I have a momentary flash of the living room, Satoshi naked beneath me, legs curled around my hips and mouth locked on mine as I touch him all over.

“Not a lot,” I say nonchalantly. “Cooking, mostly.”

“Aah.” Aiba nods understandingly, then perks up. “Nino, let's go on the water ride!”

“We won't get wet, will we?”

“Course not!”  
  
  


* * *

 

 

Four hours later, I finally make it home; late afternoon, the sun is setting. I unlock Satoshi's door with the spare key and shake freezing water absently out of my sleeve. Not get wet, my arse! Well, I suppose it was a fun day, after I'd finished bawling Aiba out for being such an idiot as to drag me onto a log ride in February. But that's not the point. The point is, Satoshi is a traitorous little bastard who hasn't answered his phone all day, and is undoubtedly floating around on the sea somewhere with a boatful of burly fishermen, enjoying himself without a thought for Aiba and me and getting horribly, unattractively windburnt.

I change out of my wet clothes, towelling my hair off roughly, huffing to myself. As the day's gone on, I've only gotten more annoyed. Just wait 'til he gets home! (All right, now I sound like his mother again...) I make myself a coffee, whack the heating up and plant myself in a chair facing the entrance hall, a magazine at my elbow in case I need to entertain myself while waiting. Half an hour passes, an hour...Ok, this is getting a bit creepy and stalkerish, so I give up and slide into the kitchen to make myself a snack.

It's about then that I hear the door open and shut, and the tell-tale clatter of rods and tackle box in the hall. I leap out of the kitchen like a small ogre; Satoshi is taking off his coat, all windblown and pink and looking orgasmically satisfied.

“Oh-chan!!” I yell as I advance towards him menacingly, brandishing the mustard spoon, “where the hell have you been?!”  
Why did I ask that? I _know_ where he's been.

“I went fishing,” he says calmly. “I caught one too, look.”

“Bugger your fish!” I shout, and he raises his eyebrows. The cocky little...I am so annoyed right now. “Masaki and I waited for you to turn up _all day_! What do you have to say for yourself, huh?”

Satoshi lifts his chin, looking defiant, arms folded in a way that is completely unlike him, and with a start I realize: _he did this on purpose_. He planned all this with the express intention of pissing me off. And it has fucking well worked.

“ _Come here_ ,” I hiss, reaching him in a microsecond and grabbing the front of his shirt. “You want to be clever with me?” I demand, probably melodramatically, dragging him down the hall and into the kitchen, “fine!” I shove him face-first across the worktop, possibly squashing my poor innocent sandwich, holding him down by the nape of his neck.

“You did this _just_ to make me angry, didn't you?”  
He doesn't reply, his pretty hands clutching at the edge of the worktop. “Is this what you wanted,” I persist, furious both at him and at the fact that it feels so good letting off steam like this; “to make me do this?” I reach my free hand round between the side of the kitchen cabinet and his hips pressed tight against it, breathing hard, fumbling his belt undone and yanking his pants and underwear down unceremoniously. Oh, Satoshi, your ass is truly a marvellous object (though that's not going to save it from what I'm about to do to it). And his rapid breathing and light trembling aren't exactly making this difficult for me.

“Never,” I whisper in his ear, running my fingers across his smooth skin, “do that again.” No reply, so I raise my hand and smack him sharply, the perfect contours of his behind firm and delicious. He lets out a little squeak, and when I peer down at him his lips break in a smile. Of course this is what he wanted! I might be an idiot for playing into it, but it's hard to care when it feels this _good_.

“Promise me,” I order him, smacking him again, and he gasps, wriggling beneath my restraining hand.

“Why...should I?” he asks shakily. Ooh, Satoshi, you really know how to play me.

“Because,” I state, punctuating my answer with more slaps, dragging a series of little moans from him; “If you don't promise...I will never do this to you again.” God, I'm good.

“...All right!” he relents at last, and I grin at him.

“Thank you,” I say courteously, and continue, increasing the force and the speed (my arm's getting tired and my palm is starting to sting, but I think it's a worthwhile sacrifice) until his skin is turning red and hot with my handprints and he's whimpering into the hard surface of the counter. I remove my hand from his neck and slide it down to check that he's actually enjoying this; oh yes, he definitely is. Amazing. I bury my face in his hair for a minute, inhaling the scent of wind and salt, then press my lips to the nape of his neck, pausing to squeeze his ass and drawing another pleasurable moan from his pretty mouth. He's right, this feels bloody fantastic.

I'm about to carry on, and possibly rip his clothes off, when the doorbell rings. Both of us freeze, in a way that must look very amusing but categorically _is not_.

“Keep quiet,” I order Satoshi, who is trembling in my grasp like a small, frightened animal. “Maybe they'll go away.” Then, like a curse visited upon me for having so much kinky fun, I hear a female voice calling through the letter box.

“Satoshi, sweetie? Come on, it's cold out here. I know you're there, the lights are on.”

I look at Satoshi dismally; he's gone absolutely scarlet.  
“It's your mother, isn't it.” He nods despairingly. “She won't go away, will she?” I doubt this very much, since it's the first time she's been here since he moved in, and well do I know the nosiness of mothers.

“Coming~!” I call, and I hear the letter box drop close as she stands up. Satoshi is looking at me like I've gone mad. “Go sit in the living room,” I hiss at him, tugging his pants back up and fastening his belt with one more slap of his rear. “I'll get the door.”

“But -”

“No time!” I walk out of the kitchen and slowly towards the door, hearing the scamper of Satoshi's footsteps as he makes for the sofa.

“Ohno-san!” I exclaim as I fling open the door, plastering a joyful expression on my face. Ah. Two Ohno-sans: the mother and the sister. I try and look delighted, because I actually like Satoshi's family; but at this precise moment it's quite hard.

“I thought it was you, Kazu-kun,” says his mother, stepping in and depositing a large cake in my hands. His sister gives me a very Satoshi-like smile and follows her, both of them peering intently around the entrance hall.

“Yeah, I'm just, er, staying the night,” I stammer, to explain the inevitable sight of my rolled up futon, “we have work so early and Oh-chan's place is closer...”

“That's nice dear,” says Ohno-mama absently, looking around with eagle eyes for dust or god knows what. Then they're both past me, and I follow them helplessly into the living room.

“Satoshi!” they both yell together, delightedly. I hover in the background and watch this touching reunion (wait, didn't he only see her the day before yesterday?). I try and fight back a snigger: Satoshi is tucked into the corner of the sofa, still rather red, his hair mussed, though that could just be from the fishing; he has the largest cushion firmly glued to his lap, and I realise he must still have a hard-on. How embarrassing! Both women swoop down and hug him, and over their shoulders I see him wince. Oops. Sitting down must be very, very uncomfortable right now.

“Hi, Mum,” he manages when he can get a word in edgeways. Satoshi's sister begins to roam around the apartment, while his mother sits next to him, looking him up and down to check he's not dying of malnutrition living by himself. I lean against the table, trying to look nonchalant and chortling inside at his discomfort. Ohno-mama talks and talks and he nods and smiles, still clutching the cushion to himself. Come on, women, hurry up and go! I tamp down all the thoughts of what I could be doing to Satoshi right now if they weren't here, because the very last thing I need is an erection to match his; but it's not easy. I stare at him instead, and whenever he catches my eye he blushes furiously. Too cute!

“Oh-chan caught a fish today,” I say to the room in general. He goes an even deeper shade of red, and I tip him a wink when no-one's looking. He deserves every single bit of this discomfort.

Eventually, Satoshi's relatives show signs of movement.  
“Well, we'd better be off, it's nearly your father's dinner time,” says Ohno-mama reluctantly, giving Satoshi another death-squeeze. “Now you make sure you eat that cake, you're thin as a rail.”

“I'm not, really,” he answers pacifyingly, as if it made a difference.

“You too,” she adds, pointing accusingly at me. “Skinny boys!”

“Yes ma'am,” we chorus. I show them to the door, hiding my eagerness to see them go and the fact that I would quite like to get back to punishing her precious son.

“Such a polite boy, Kazu-kun,” she tells me. I give her an idol smile. The sister grins at me again. Then they're out the door, and it's closed, and I've locked it. Oh thank god.

 

* * *

 

“Oh-chan,” I growl as soon as I'm sure his relatives are really gone. I can only see the back of his head, but that goes very still, wary. I do like this! I step softly to the doorway of his bedroom, the inner sanctum. “Get in here _now_ ,” I command, still trying to sound all low and sexy, which is not something my voice box was made for.

“...What are you going to do to me?” he asks breathlessly, still holding onto his cushion like a life belt. I grin at him sharkily.

“Well if you're not inside this room in...three seconds...you'll never find out.” That does the trick: he hops up with alacrity and darts past me, quickly, to avoid anything untoward I might do with my hands. I don't, I just fold my arms and glare at him, because frankly I have no _idea_ what I'm going to do with him now, just that he still owes me for today and that I want it to feel as good as spanking him did.

“Strip.” That'll buy me some time. Satoshi bites his lip and looks at the floor demurely, elegant fingers working the buttons of his shirt. I watch him, thoroughly enjoying it; he's not exactly professionally smooth (in fact he gets his tshirt stuck on his head at one point), but seeing his skin bared slowly, inch by inch, is turning me on pretty quickly, even after the disastrous interruption of his mother. Then he's naked, and I spend a good two minutes just staring at him; I want to jump him again, but I have a feeling that's exactly what he'd like me to do.

“All right,” I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed and beckoning him over. “Get on your knees.” How magnanimous of me. I see a little shiver ripple over him at my disinterested words, though I don't know how long I'm going to be able to keep _that_ up. He kneels in front of me, swiftly unbuttoning my pants, eyebrows locked in a little frown of concentration. Then he bends his head and starts to work his magic, and shit, I was planning to use this time to think up what to do with him next, but it's _impossible_ because his mouth is so hot, so wet, and the _noises_ he's making are far too distracting for anything like rational thought. He angles his head and takes all of me in, something he's only got the hang of in the last week or so; I make the mistake of looking down and see the tip of his nose touch my stomach, and no no no, this is no good, it's too soon!

“ _Stop!_ ” I manage to gasp, grabbing his hair and dragging his head back. He looks me in the eye, chest heaving, his beautiful mouth damp and shining. Argh, what do I do now? I stand up with difficulty, pulling him with me, and throw him down onto the bed. It's a good job he's with me on this, because honestly, Satoshi is probably a little stronger than me and I would look a complete idiot if he decided he didn't want to be moved. Happily for me he obviously does, and he lies there gazing back at me invitingly, propping himself up on his elbows.

“You're going to bruise,” I remark, running my fingers over the exquisite contours of his behind, eyeing the red skin; he twitches beneath my hand.

“I don't care,” he says in a rush, and then, “don't stop!” I look at him blankly for a moment, until a bright idea occurs to me.

“'Scuse me,” I tell him, and scuttle off to the bathroom, hearing his exclamation of disappointment behind me. I rummage through the bathroom cupboard, pulling out sheets, until I find a small towel. This...might do the trick. Much as I have adored smacking the hell out of Satoshi's ass, it does quite hurt my hand, and I think this might work better. I run the hot tap and plunge the towel under it, soaking and then wringing it out. I vaguely remember this being used as a bullying tactic when I was in junior high, and it hurt like hell; I never thought I'd be the kind of person who'd be doing it myself, but desperate times...

When I get back to the bedroom, I throw the towel down on the bed and stick my hands on my hips.

“ _What_ do you think you're doing?” I demand, making Satoshi, who is very clearly touching himself, flinch and look back at me nervously. Hehe! This is great. Not to say that Satoshi doesn't look absolutely wonderful getting himself off, but he hardly deserves it yet. “I don't remember telling you to do that,” I say (and discover a very disturbing fact: that when I want to sound particularly commanding, I put on a Matsujun voice; not cool!).

“Sorry,” he mumbles. I glower at him, step across to the wardrobe and dig out his one and only formal neck-tie, stretching it out between my two hands ominously. His eyes widen, but he immediately puts out both wrists. Cheeky little sod. I go ahead and tie them anyway, tight enough that he can't slip free (I hope – I'm not much good with knots); the black silk against his golden skin is very pretty. As an afterthought I prod and nudge him up the bed until I can fasten his wrists loosely to the headboard, and all the while he looks at me apprehensively, gratefully. I bend and kiss him quickly, and I love the way he tilts his head up to meet me.

“Ok, Oh-chan,” I tell him, moving away from him so he's kneeling by himself, looking very vulnerable, all naked and restrained. “If you keep still and be good, I'll forget about today. And maybe later I'll let you get off.” He doesn't answer; well, there's not really much to say to that, is there? I pick up the abandoned towel, still warm and damp, and twist it along the diagonal. I dunno...I'm really not sure how this is supposed to work. I'm right behind him and he's not looking at me, but I can tell he's listening to every tiny noise. I snap the towel experimentally against the bed covers, and see him flinch.

“Okay?” I ask. He nods once, quickly, and I draw my arm back and hit him, not that hard, on the back of the thighs. I find myself wincing at the snapping sound, and his startled intake of breath. He nods again, and I laugh because why am _I_ the one who needs reassuring? I try again, and then once more against his ass; he drops his head and moans at that, but doesn't try and shrink away. He likes it, he actually does! I scowl in concentration and resume, hitting him a little harder, the crack of the wet fabric mingling with his pained, happy little noises; the graceful arch of his back is beautiful against the dowdy, practical bed covers, and while I still can't understand why something that would be so abhorrent to me is so arousing for _him_ , there's no denying it makes for an impressive sight.

“Harder,” he pleads in a whisper, his voice uneven, and pausing to crawl forward and get a look at his expression I see his eyes are damp, unshed tears clinging to the lashes.

“But...I'm hurting you,” I say idiotically.

“I know,” he says through gritted teeth, “that's _why_.” I roll my eyes at that and slip one hand between his legs, stroking him teasingly; he's so hard. Guess he is telling the truth.

“All right, clever clogs,” I tell him, moving behind him once more. “We'll see about that.” I change to my good arm and hit him as hard as I can (which isn't actually that hard, as my body type will attest), then wince again as he cries out, ugh, this is so weird, this feeling, but it's also _amazing_.

“ _Please_ ,” he says again, and this time I don't stop but continue with a flurry of sharp blows, I'm getting the hang of it now so I let up on the force (for which my arm is thankful), concentrating on catching his skin with the very corner of the wet fabric, which has him writhing with each flick, and _still_ he doesn't tell me to stop. I'm gasping now too, sweat breaking at my temples with arousal and effort; maybe I should work on my stamina. At last Satoshi's whimpers are too much and I throw the towel aside, leaning forward to run my hands across his reddened skin; it's so hot, fiery, and he shudders beneath my touch. I press myself against him, my hard-on digging into his thigh, trying for as much contact as possible in my clothed state, dipping down to kiss the back of his neck hungrily. I want him. I want him so much I can barely think, despite all my promises to myself that I wouldn't do this until I know exactly where we stand.

“Oh-chan,” I whisper unsteadily, biting lightly at his ear, and he presses back against me with a soft moan, “please, I want to fuck you, _please_ ,” and he's nodding before I can even finish the sentence, twisting his head so I can kiss him.

“What should I -” I continue; I think I might be on the verge of a minor panic attack because, let's face it, I've never actually had sex with a guy before. Satoshi angles his head toward the bedside cabinet, unable to point because of his tied wrists.

“In there,” he mutters thickly. I lean across him, my hand shaking, and slide the top drawer open, a quick and fumbled search revealing a tube of lubrication. I stare at it for a minute before I notice it's already been opened. I raise my eyebrows.

“Oh-chan,” I murmur, waving it at him with one hand while squeezing his behind cruelly with the other, just to see him wriggle. “What do you do to yourself with this?” He doesn't answer, and looks away from me, blushing. Ok, better stop thinking about that, because just the mental image is taking me dangerously close to coming prematurely. “One day, I'll have you show me,” I promise him, giving his ass another pinch, hearing him hiss.

With considerably difficulty I tear myself away from him, grinning at his disconsolate noise of complaint, and strip my own clothes off as fast as my clumsy fingers will let me, and when I move back to touch him it sends a tingle all the way up my spine; strange as it may seem, in all our encounters I have never been entirely naked with Satoshi before; it feels new, intimate in a way it hadn't previously.

I pick up the lube again and pump some onto my fingers. It's cold! I run my free hand over his back soothingly while I wait for it to warm up against my skin; he's gone very quiet, and I can feel the tenseness in his muscles beneath my fingertips.

“If you don't like it, Oh-chan, tell me and I'll stop.” He doesn't react, other than to shiver a little, and I grasp his chin and make him look at me. “Promise me you'll say something.” He gazes at me for a moment, his dark eyes nervous, trusting, wanting. Then he gives a little nod, and I let him go, satisfied. I nudge his legs apart gently, and he takes a grip on the rails of the bed with both hands. Slowly, carefully, I slide a finger inside him, and I can feel my eyes widening at how tight he is. If I didn't know that people do this all the time, I'd say it was physically impossible. I bite my lip; I'm scared for him. Then,

“More, Nino,” comes Satoshi's impatient little voice, and I smile wryly at myself, because once again it's _him_ reassuring _me_. I push a little deeper, and still no adverse reaction. Ok, maybe this is possible after all. After a minute of cautious movement I press another finger into him, sliding my free hand comfortingly around his waist at his sharp inhalation; gaining a little confidence, I begin to open him up, stretching him gently, taking note of every sigh, every whimper, my fingers gliding smoothly as I add another.

“Are you all right?” I keep asking, whispering it into his hair, against his neck, the shell of his ear, and even when he can't answer me properly he nods.

“I'm gonna do it,” I tell him at last, when he's breaking a tiny smile of pleasure at each thrust of my fingers. He nods again, pressing his cheek against mine. My right hand tugs briefly at his erection, for no other reason than that I want to hear him moan again, and at the same time I withdraw my fingers from the heat of his body. While I'm at it I remember something I should have considered before.

“Wait a sec, Oh-chan.” I stumble off the bed, and he turns to stare at me disbelievingly. “Wait!” I order over my shoulder, not that he has any choice. I scoot to the living room, locate my wallet, and retrieve every man's obligatory hopeful condom (this one thoughtfully donated by Sho during one of his regular health freak-outs), which is finally about to live up to its lucky reputation. When I return to the bedroom, almost falling over myself in my eagerness, Satoshi is as I left him (obviously); he looks at me pleadingly as I hop up on the bed. I trail my fingers teasingly over the deliciously abused skin of his rear, and see his round jaw clench with frustration.

“Hurry up, Nino,” he mutters, as I leisurely unwrap the condom and roll it on, not that I feel leisurely at all; I'm just enjoying that marvellous expression.

“Please,” he begs softly; I eye him appraisingly while I coat myself with more lube, goddammit, it _is_ cold; “ _please_!”

Dropping a kiss to his shoulder-blade, I relent, because I can't hold out any more, not with Ohno Satoshi literally _begging_ me to take him. I nudge his slim thighs further apart and spend a split second gathering my wits and just marvelling at how damn beautiful he looks right now. When I finally begin to press inside him, Satoshi gives a low groan, head dropping, and I barely even notice because it feels _extraordinary_ , every one of my senses full of him, deeper and deeper until he's quivering, the knuckles of his pretty hands white against the headboard.

“Oh-chan,” I whisper, laying my head briefly against his back, “do you like it? Is this ok?” No answer, just his deliberate, controlled breathing. I begin to move and he arches his back beneath me, and to my amazement I hear a choked laugh spill from his lips.

“...What's funny?” I manage, pushing into him again, making him gasp, and then I'm smiling too, idiotically, because he _likes_ it, I'm not hurting him, and this is all so miraculous and marvellous it _deserves_ smiling at. I start slowly, and once he's pushing back against me happily I grip his hips for extra leverage and let my body do what it wants, moving faster, harder, dragging little cries from him that escalate with each stroke; once it sounds like they're verging on pain I slow the pace back down (not least because I'm puffing like a granddad running up a flight of stairs), thrusting slower, deeper, and his moans become richer, infinitely pleasurable, his head thrown back in abandon, he's so fucking beautiful and I can't hold on much longer -

“Oh-chan, Oh-chan,” I murmur, my fingers digging hard into the soft flesh of his hips, and then I'm coming, total blackness as I screw my eyes shut, sinking my teeth into the skin of his shoulder to stop myself yelling. Satoshi laughs again, breathlessly, sounding amazed; he gives a quiet whine as I pull out of him, and I can't imagine what it feels like for him. Panting, I lean against his back, resting my cheek on his shoulder, kissing it softly where I bit him.

“Are you ok, Oh-chan?” I ask for the fiftieth time, the tingle from my orgasm still rippling over me. He's still trembling beneath my hands; he swallows heavily.

“If you touch me,” he says in a tiny voice, which is somehow incredibly sexy, “I'll come.” Oh yes.

“Ask me, then,” I tell him, because I know he doesn't like to. He flicks his gaze towards me reproachfully, pleadingly, but I don't move. Ahh, frustrating him feels almost as good as satisfying him!

“ _Please_ , Nino.”

“Please what, Nino?”

“...Please let me come,” he whispers resentfully, and I give him a beatific smile. Who would ever have thought it, that I'd be in a position to have Satoshi say something so unmitigatedly _filthy_ to me? He's right: I tuck my right hand between his legs, stroking him firmly, while with the other I enjoy my favourite pastime, namely, squeezing his ass, which draws moans of both discomfort and pleasure from him; and in less than a minute he climaxes, gratefully, and I wrap him in my arms from behind, holding him until he stops shaking.

“I'm gonna untie you now, honey,” I tell him softly, when his breathing has evened out and he's leaning tiredly into the headboard. I fiddle with the knots in the tie, which he's yanked tight. “Is there anything I can get you?” I ask considerately, as he massages his wrists where they were bound.

“...Dinner?” he says hopefully, and I kiss him, because that is so very Satoshi. I leave him to compose himself, and throw one of his old yukata on, trotting off to the kitchen to put some rice on and grab him a beer. How strange, that something so mundane as _cooking_ should follow such an erotic experience. I find myself grinning stupidly. I can't believe we've actually done this. I must be mad.

I hear tentative footsteps and muffled 'oohs' and 'aahs' of complaint outside. Entering the living-room I see Satoshi limping his way across the carpet, wincing to himself; he collapses gingerly on the sofa, face first, and sprawls there, looking both satisfied and sorry for himself. I quickly kneel down beside him, cracking the beer for him, which he takes from me gratefully, and regarding the view of the punishment his body has taken.

“You're going to be black and blue tomorrow,” I tell him, awed. He twists round, attempting to see his own behind, then gives up with a pained grimace. He's already beginning to bruise.

“Hurts,” he informs me solemnly.

“No, really?” I stroke his hair, suppressing a smile. “What did you expect?” He grumbles a bit, under his breath. “If it hurts too much,” I tell him, moving my finger contemplatively back and forth over his cheek, “then I won't do it again.”

“I didn't say that!” he exclaims quickly, reaching up to kiss me when I laugh at him. I sigh.

“We'd better put you in the bath,” I prescribe, winding my arms around him. “Then you can stuff your face with tempura.” He brightens up. “ _Then_ you can go over all our first month's bills.” His face drops. Gullible boy! “I'm just joking, Oh-chan,” I reassure him, helping him to his feet. “I said I'd take care of you. And I will: any way you want me to.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nino fails to understand where the boundaries are, and Aiba dispenses wise advice (what are the odds??)... General stupid behaviour and angsting, for a change.

The first thing I think when I wake up is that the events of yesterday were an incredibly vivid and erotic dream, full of juicy detail. This illusion is soon dispelled when I wake up in Satoshi's bed, surrounded by his scent – I can hear him splashing and swearing in the bathroom – and is confirmed later, at work, by the pathetic, disgruntled looks he's throwing me. He must be _hurting_ , though the only sign of it is his eyes, which widen comically every time he sits down in a chair, as well as a slight shuffle that leads to a few more old-man jokes than usual.

And I feel such a peculiar sense of amazement, gratitude even, at what I've been allowed to experience that I just want to _touch_ him all day. Happily, this is a normal state of affairs on-camera, and so nobody comments when I throw an arm around him, stroke him teasingly under the chin, sink my nose into his hair. The only remark comes from Jun, when I forget myself and give Satoshi's ass a routine little pinch, making him yelp and look at me pitifully. Oops. Jun tells me to lay off and moves me next to Sho instead, at which Satoshi looks both grateful and disappointed.

That night he's working late and I barely see him except when he stumbles in, waking me up and pulling me out of my bed to sleep in his, both of us too tired to do anything but caress and cuddle each other lazily until we fall asleep.  
The next morning Satoshi is giving me a wake-up blow-job when the phone rings, his manager, telling him his morning photoshoot has been put forward an hour and he needs to be _there_ , _now_. I curse as he leaves me hanging, growling at him as he runs round throwing on clothes; I'm in a bad mood for the rest of the day, and it's only by dint of extreme professionalism that I manage to not tell the HnA guest to stick her vapid opinions up her bottom.  
Satoshi makes up for it by coming home early, and I'm so full of sexual frustration that I don't even let him wait and have dinner, but jump on him as he comes through the door, pushing him to the floor and tugging his clothes off furiously. The fading bruises on his ass and thighs are, bizarrely, just more of a turn-on, not to mention the noises he makes when I touch them, and I'm almost giddy with how arousing every single bit of him suddenly is; to cut a long story short, I end up beating him lightly with a spatula (I know, that makes him sound like a cake recipe, but the kitchen is the closest room to the door, and it was _much_ hotter than it sounds) and fucking him right there, slow and intense and wet against the polished wooden floor. He ends up with bruises on his knees, too.

This goes on for a week or more, snatching what odd moments we can together, stretching each one to the utmost, and instead of falling into a routine and some sense of normalcy it builds up and up until I, sensible Ninomiya Kazunari, am almost blind with wanting him, with the pleasure of giving him this pain that he loves so much and which I thought it would be impossible for me to deliver.

He seems to blossom as I discover exactly what my own brain and ingenuity will let me do to him, squeezing, pinching, smacking, tying his hands above his head and biting at his pink nipples until he's writhing beneath me. I try tickling, but that doesn't have any effect at all (though when he tries it on me while we're watching TV I almost kick him in the face because I can't control my limbs for laughing); he takes very well to having his hair pulled, though, which is quicker than verbal directions and feels wonderful, soft strands slipping through my fingers. It's all becoming almost second nature, to slam him against a wall whenever we're in private and pin him there with a thigh between his legs, watching him melt into easy submission in front of me, and then an hour later be joking with him and the other guys, the same as it ever was.

At times I wonder whether we're getting too mixed up, whether this is escalating too fast; we've never sat down and talked about what we are to each other now, where this is going, how long it's going to last. But I'm too busy holding him, playing with him, fucking him to care.

“Oh-chan,” I say one night while making dinner, “do get out of the way.” Satoshi has started complaining again lately about not being allowed to help cook; I think he has visions of becoming the misogynist's dream of a perfect housewife, though why I can't imagine, because in reality there is no-one alive more My-Pace and domestically challenged than Satoshi. He's squeezed into the corner by the stove and is stirring the nabe I'm preparing, which doesn't _need_ stirring, dammit, it just wants to be left alone.

“You'll burn yourself,” I warn, because there's not even room for one of us to turn round without bumping the other, which is shortly proved when his elbow jogs me and I drop a handful of mushrooms on my foot. “That's it, out!” I growl.

“I just wanted to help,” he says sulkily. Oh, this man can still pout for Japan when he wants to, no matter how obedient he acts.

“Well, you're not,” I tell him, annoyed, “now bugger off 'til it's ready.”

“It's my kitchen,” Satoshi mumbles at me, “ _and_ you forgot the scallion.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“ _You_ shut up!”

This is a perfectly routine and boring domestic squabble, observable in family homes and student kitchens all over the world. But my irritation is bubbling and, instead of swearing casually at him until he goes away, as I would have done before, I manage to be offended by him telling me to shut up. Maybe it's because he's been so perfectly sweet since I moved in, whenever we're alone at least, and it just comes as a shock to hear him raise his voice. Maybe it's the feeling of power I've had recently, given to me at _his_ insistence. Whatever the reason, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to raise my hand and slap him, my palm connecting sharply with his round cheek, snapping his head to the side.

Fuck. What...just happened to me? I blink, and stare at my hand disbelievingly. I did not just do that, surely. I look up at Satoshi. He's staring at me wide-eyed, his slender hand cradling a spreading red mark on his smooth skin. He doesn't say anything, just looks at me, while the soup boils, very loud in the silence between us.

“I'm going,” I whisper, anything to stop that _look_. I back out of the kitchen, grab my wallet and keys from the dish on the hall cabinet, stumble into my shoes and wrench the door open, almost falling out of it and slamming it behind me. He didn't say anything.

I sit in my car for a long time, shivering, I forgot my coat and I don't think to turn the heating on. I gaze at my hand as if it belongs to someone else. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind I'm hoping Satoshi will come down to me, will talk to me, tell me this didn't happen. But he doesn't. Slowly I start the car and begin the drive back to my own apartment, which I've almost abandoned. I've never hit anybody before. Well, I have, playing; Aiba and I would fight when we were Juniors, rolling over like puppies; but I would never, _ever_ , raise my hand to someone important to me, not seriously, not in anger. And I can't help but think: if we had never started this, if we hadn't begun this rising spiral of pain and desire...would I have done it?

The answer is no. Of course I wouldn't. Satoshi is my best friend, and I, all of us, are concerned only with seeing him safe and happy. Maybe...all this has been a terrible mistake.

 

* * *

 

When I wake up in my old place, disoriented, my heart sinks. I remember what happened. I go to the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror over the sink; I look exhausted, and I think I've been crying in my sleep – my eyes are still red. What a state. There's nothing to have for breakfast, so I leave without it. It feels cold here, anyway, like Satoshi's place did before I was there to help him. Isn't that what I said I'd do? Help him, look after him. A fine job I made of that.

When I drop into the driver's seat of my car, I see my phone sitting there on the dashboard. I hadn't even noticed. I flip it open, and there is the message icon blinking at me, and Satoshi's name. My breath is caught in my throat as I open it.

 

 _Nino, I need to talk to you_.

 

So polite? What does that mean? 'We have to break up?' No, no! I still don't know what the status of our relationship is, but I certainly don't want it to become a _was_. Ah, a second message.

 

 _Please come home_.

 

With my usual paranoia I interpret this as 'please come home so I can give you a bollocking, you abusive bastard,' because nobody in their right mind would write such a sweet message in these circumstances and mean it. Satoshi, Satoshi, what have I done to us?

I'm almost glad that I don't have to work with Arashi today; I'm filming by myself all day, and it's just as well because I have no idea what I'd say to him, how I could even look at him. Once recording is over I take myself home (only it's not home any more, is it, even Satoshi's message acknowledged that), and spend the night trying to think of some way to make this better. Needless to say, I can't. Maybe I'll just try throwing myself on my knees and having a breakdown in front of him; it's what I feel like doing, anyway. My phone is silent now.

The next day I arrive at the group shoot late, late enough that I don't have to spend any time in any green rooms before we're due on the set. I get my hair and makeup done, and the girls complain about my paleness, the shadows beneath my eyes. I stand under the bright lights, and before I know it there is Satoshi beside me, his face as golden and flawless as if I'd never touched him, he's smiling wistfully at the camera, which is always a winner, and _I still want him_.

“Nino,” he breathes as we change poses and he's moved to lean up against me, “please.” I don't say anything, I'm concentrating too hard on smiling and not breaking down and crushing him to me, kissing him in front of about twenty strangers.

“Nino, loosen up,” says Jun through his teeth, not breaking his idol grin, and I glare at him and get told off; and all the while I feel Satoshi's breath against my ear, warm and gentle as the rest of him, and I feel so bad I can't think what to do. I don't think I've ever really understood _guilt_ before now.

We break for fifteen minutes and I dart out into the corridor, leaning back against the wall and closing my eyes. I've got to do _something_ , it's not fair on Satoshi, all this. I feel a warm arm slung around my shoulders, and sigh with relief because it's too lanky and friendly to be anyone but Aiba.

“What's up with you today?” he asks brightly, steering me in the direction of an adjacent door. I let myself be piloted, because I just don't have the will not to.

“Is it that obvious?” I say dourly. Just leave me alone, Masaki. He pulls me into the empty room and we both perch on one of the wooden tables.

“Yup.” How is Aiba always so happy? Satoshi too, it's as though their neutral status – which for most normal people is something between mild annoyance and a vague feeling that they're not doing enough work – is a gently satisfied joy. It radiates from both of them, or at least it should do. There goes the guilt again.

“You want to tell me about it,” Aiba states, bumping me with his shoulder.

“Do I.”

“Yeah! Aiba-chan can help.” I eye him sceptically, then shrug to myself.

“It's not anything, really.”

“Ooh, you liar. What is it, money? Not getting enough vitamins? Girlfriend trouble?” I twitch, and he pounces right on it. “Thought so! You sly boots.”

“Leave it alone,” I say. Mind you...if anyone is going to understand the weird shit Satoshi and have been doing, it might as well be Aiba, he of the snake handler. I can't believe I'm going to tell him this, but...

“I've...been kind of seeing someone.” Aiba looks surprised. “What, is it so unusual that someone might want to go to bed with me?” I demand, and he laughs that bubbly laugh and waves his hands around.

“No, it's just...you'd never usually talk to me about it.”

“Well you're not gonna let up 'til I tell you, are you?” I say gloomily. “Anyway, you're...kind of a deviant.”

“Where did you get that idea?” He sounds totally unoffended. What a freak.

“The snake?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Anyway.” I lean my chin in my palm. “This...person and I...we've been doing some stuff.”

“I see.” Oh, lay off the voice, Aiba, you're not my doctor. “Like?”

“You know...” I look at the ceiling, trying to sound casual. “Tying, spanking...er. That general area.” Aiba peers at me over a pair of pretend spectacles. Moron.

“So...pretty much your standard S&M.”

“If you want to call it that.”

“Are you the S or the M?”

“S, of course!” I mutter, as if it weren't perfectly obvious. Aiba nods sagely.

“Yeah, that pretty much works with your personality type.”

“What are you, the resident expert?” I ask sourly.

“I have my finger in a few pies,” he concedes, flashing me a broad grin.

“You have no idea how disturbing that sounds.”

“Look, Nino...” Aiba gazes at me steadily. “What exactly is the problem?”

How do I tell him without telling him everything? This is so difficult, and whichever way I turn it I sound like a total bastard and possible perpetrator of domestic violence. I sag in my seat.

“Well. It's kind of...not been going on very long. And we were both enjoying it, at least, I think we were, and this _person_...was being so sweet and just, you know, the whole thing felt so good and then it all got more and more _intense_ and...” Stop babbling, Nino! Aiba is looking at me seriously. “We were having an argument and...things got a bit out of control.” Aiba sighs.

“What did you do?”

I purse my lips. I can't say it.

“You hit her.” Aiba is being unusually perceptive today. I blink at the pronoun, but nod; I can feel myself going a sulky red.

“Slapped.”

“It doesn't matter which,” Aiba says solemnly, brushing aside my correction. “Were you playing at the time?”

“No, we were...what? No, we were _cooking_.”

“And you weren't using the rules.”

“ _What_ rules?” Aiba is talking gibberish, and I'm starting to get upset, which is not something I do. He seems to notice my utter bewilderment.

“Are you telling me,” he says patiently, “that the two of you dived straight into this kind of relationship, and you've been doing what you want to her when you want without sitting down and _talking_ about it first?!”

“That sums it up in a nutshell.”

“Imbecile!” he exclaims, and coming from Aiba that is a severe insult. I glare at him and he shakes his head in amazement. “You really have no idea what you're doing, do you?” Well, he's got that right anyway.

“What _should_ I be doing?” I ask semi-sarcastically. Aiba sighs again.

“You don't want to break up, do you?”

“Hell no!”

“And you both liked what you were doing.” I nod vigorously.

“I didn't think it was something I'd be able to do...to hurt someone deliberately,” I tell him carefully, “but once I started...it was so easy.” Aiba's nodding, nodding, is he going to tell me how to deal with this or what?

“Look. This kind of...relationship, connection, whatever you call it, it's based on trust, above anything else. About _knowing_ you'll both be safe.” Why do I feel he should be wearing his white coat for this?

“And how do you do that?”

“Rules,” says Aiba happily. “Look, I know loads of people into this stuff, it's elementary, my dear Nino.” I glower at him impatiently. “You need to sit down with her – if you can get her to speak to you ever again – and talk about what's ok, what's not ok, what might be ok only you have to stop if it turns out she doesn't like it. Hell, make a list.”

More paperwork? I groan to myself. “Aiba, I'm trying to have sex, not do my tax return.”

“Pipe down,” he tells me officiously. “Then you have to choose a word, like a password, you know.”

“What?!”

“And when you're playing together, if one of you uses it you know you have to _stop_ , right away.”

“That's stupid,” I say. “Why not just say 'stop'?”

“Ahh, just shut up and listen, Nino, it's for your own good. Because she might say a lot of things in the moment, when she can't think straight, things she doesn't really mean. But the special word always means stop, _now_. It's to protect both of you, see? Otherwise you could end up going down a really dark road...”

“O...k.”

“And then,” he continues, warming to his theme, “you always have to make sure it's ok before you start something. So if you want to play you have to ask; she might be tired, she might be busy, she might just say get lost – and you have to go with it. If she says yes, fine, do what you like to her within the agreed limits.”

“Doesn't that kind of...take the spontaneity out of it?” I ask doubtfully, because I can just see myself getting Satoshi to sign a permission form every time I want to get in there and spank him, and the sight is absurd.

“No,” says Aiba firmly, and I've never felt that Aiba could be an expert on _anything_ , but if there was one thing, it would be this. Pity they don't have professors of sex. He sets a hand on my shoulder. “But if you had been doing all this, what happened to you two never would have. See? If you'd known where your boundaries were, you never would have hit her.”

“...Thanks, Aiba,” I say, thoughtfully. It might just be possible that what he is saying is making sense, is good advice. I thought it was pretty unlikely before we started talking, but Aiba has hung out with some strange people and done some _weird_ stuff and, to be honest, he's more likely to know what he's talking about than me. Amazing.

“So you're gonna give it a try?”

“Yes.” I clench my fists inside my pockets. “I'm going to fix this.”  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

I say I'm going to try and mend things, but that's easier said than done; I don't seem to be able to get a moment alone with Satoshi all day. It's like torture watching him behave so professionally, smiling gently, making his odd little jokes and non sequiturs as usual, whereas I can hardly concentrate enough to speak. Our last interview is finally over, and we all trek off to collect our bags; I'm gathering my courage to say something to him, but Jun and Sho are still in there with him, discussing pensions, of all things. Come on, get lost, you middle-aged pair of...

“Nino.” I blink. Satoshi is calling to me where I'm lurking in the corner of the room, smiling brightly; the nails of his right hand are digging into his left. “You want to come over tonight?” he asks casually, and only his eyes are telling me how desperate he is for me to say yes. “There's something I need help with.”

“Again?” Jun snorts, and resumes brushing his hair. “Why don't you just have him move in?”

I stick my middle finger up at him, and turn back to Satoshi.

“I'll come by later,” I tell him lightly, and he flushes up nervously. “I just have to stop by my place first.” As if there's anything I'd need there, the place is practically empty; but I have to have a little time, to work out what the hell I'm going to say.

“Thanks,” he says softly. I think...I might love this man.  
  
  


* * *

 

I stand outside Satoshi's door; there's cold wind cutting through my jacket and my teeth are starting to chatter, but I find I can't press the bell. I've never been any good at apologising, backing down, and now I need to do it and I've had no practice.

I'm about to raise my hand when the door swings open. Warm light spills out, and with it comes Satoshi, tripping down until he's half an inch from me, as if he wants to throw himself into my arms. Then he forces himself to stop, but I can still feel his warmth radiating towards me.

“Oh-chan,” I say softly, and he closes his eyes.

“Come in.” He takes my hand, long fingers tangling with mine, and leads me inside; I can feel him shivering where our skin meets. I don't say anything as he pulls me into the living room, sitting me down on the familiar sofa where we've been so intimate; I know he's remembering it too, and he carefully sits down at the opposite end, his hands fumbling with the denim covering his knees.

“Nino,” he says, looking down at his feet, “please talk to me.”

“Oh-chan,” I breathe, “I'm sorry. I am _so sorry_.”

“I know.” Satoshi glances up at me, and smiles gently. I feel my throat close up.

“I didn't mean it,” I tell him miserably, “I'll _never_ do it again!” He sighs, and folds his arms.

“Do you know what the scariest thing is?” he asks, almost under his breath, tucking his knees up to his chest, huddled in the corner of the couch. I shake my head, and he gives a little laugh. “ _I liked it._ ”

I gape at him, and he nods, helplessly, hugging his legs to him.

“I got a rush. And that's not right.” He gives me another look to see if I understand him. I just sit there with my mouth open. “You shouldn't have done it, Nino, not then, d'you see? I _liked_ it, but it wasn't fair.”

“Of course it wasn't!” I exclaim. “I was _so stupid_.”

“Mm.” He puffs out his cheeks in a sigh. “And you know I want you to do what you like, Nino. But if we're fighting and it ever happens again...I'll thump you so hard.”

“You could now?” I suggest; it might actually make me feel better. But he's shaking his head, smiling a little more broadly.

“No. Because I don't like to. And it won't mean anything now.” What does that mean? That...it's too late? I stare at him dully. “Nino,” he says quietly, turning finally to face me. “Do you still want me?”

“ _I want you_ ,” I say, jaw tight.

“Then let's work this out.” He smiles again as I gawp at him; his mouth is sweet, forgiving. How did we get to reconciliation in the space of five minutes?! Not that I'm complaining; my chest is tight with hope.

“Anything,” I tell him, “I'll do anything you say.” His worried eyebrows rise, amused.

“I don't think _that's_ exactly what I'm looking for,” he reminds me, and I turn red. “But I never want to be in the situation where I have to worry about something like this happening again.”

“Um...We could make rules?” I suggest tentatively, trying to remember what the hell Aiba said to me this morning.

“Eh?”

“A list.” Satoshi looks discouraged at the word 'list,' and I raise my hands in pacification. “You don't have to write it. But it'll help me figure out what's ok for you, and when it's ok...” He's listening, that adorable little frown of concentration he makes when someone is going too fast. “Just let's try,” I say. “If we do it this way...I know I can make you happy, Oh-chan.”

“Ohh.” Satoshi nods thoughtfully. “Ok. We can try. But before that...I have to know.” He looks nervous again. “Nino...what is this to you?” Now it's my turn to frown. “I mean...Is this, am I, just a...a fun game?”

“You know you could never be that!” I say indignantly, because really, how shallow does he think I am? I've known Satoshi more than a decade, how could he think I'd treat him lightly, as a leader, as a friend, as a lover? “I want you,” I reassure him, “I want _this_ , I don't want to stop!” I open my arms and this time he doesn't hesitate but crawls across into my embrace, cuddling against my side.

“What about you?” I ask, because I might as well know exactly where we stand on both sides, something I probably should have found out before I decided to share his bed. He looks at me blankly, moving closer, as if he wants to sink into me. “This...stuff you love,” I explain. “Do you love it because it's _me_ , or because of the thing itself?” He's silent. “I mean...could a woman get you off, too?”

“Maybe,” he says contemplatively, and I smile wryly. I suppose Satoshi's honesty is a good thing, but sometimes it's a little blunt. “I guess anyone could, if they really knew what they were doing. But I want _you_ , Nino.” He leans up to kiss my jaw, and I tighten my arm around his shoulder. “I want you and it together. Do you understand?”

“I'll try,” I promise him, revelling in the feeling of having him in my arms again, toasty warm and heavy against my side. I restrain my hands, not letting them wander, and just scratch his ear lightly, to hear him purr.

“So, about these rules,” I say.  
  
  


* * *

 

The next morning, when my alarm wakes me, I find Satoshi is already up, his warmth still lingering in the bed. I'm feeling so lazy, although we didn't do anything last night, just lay there, arms around each other's necks, claustrophobically close. I hear the sizzle of cooking from the kitchen and the clink of glasses; he must be awfully enthusiastic for his newly designated tasks, if he's awake before me. I wonder how long that will last; I predict a week and a half before he's fed up with cooking, at the most.

“Morning.” I wander into the kitchen doorway, hitching up my sweat-pants, scratching my ribs. I yawn. Satoshi grins and takes the single step necessary to bring us into contact, holding glasses of juice away from his sides with both hands. I kiss him lightly on the temple, then more firmly on the lips when he doesn't move away.

“Get on with it, then,” I tell him. It actually doesn't smell too awful, and my stomach is growling because I had nothing to eat last night, not even Satoshi.

“I will, if you move,” he counters, and I step aside to let him through, watching his be-aproned behind as he slouches down the hall. Yum. Now that I can fit in the kitchen, I quickly examine the prospective breakfast, and find it quite pleasantly ordinary. Then I notice the sheet of paper taped to the fridge, and burst out laughing.

“You didn't actually have to write a list!” Satoshi can be very literal. It's neat and drawn up like an official document (apart from the random drawings of fish). I stand back so I can read it:

 

_**Rules of Nino re: ownership of your Ohno Satoshi.** _

 

Ooh, I like the sound of that, though.

 

  1. _If Nino wants to play, he will pinch Ohno Satoshi on the elbow._ (He didn't just make that up, we did actually agree it last night; it's subtle enough not to break the flow of the moment.) _Nino will have reasonable precedence, but he must not be surprised if he's bumped for a fishing invitation._ (No, he added that bit himself!)

  2. _Nino must accept Ohno Satoshi's right to refuse if he so feels like it._

  3. _Once consent has been given, Nino may bind, gag, play with and fuck Ohno Satoshi in any way he sees fit unless ordered to stop._ (Ok, I wanna do that right now, did he have to word it so sexily?!)

  4. _Nino must not criticise Ohno Satoshi's cooking, and if he wishes to be sick, he must do it quietly out of earshot._ (Stop referring to yourself in the third person!)

  5. _Nino will deal with all forms, bills and receipts, and if he must explain them he will use language a junior high school student is comfortable with._

  6. _Ohno Satoshi must not try and seduce Nino while he is a) writing or b) gaming. Non-compliance will result in severe reprisals._

  7. _Ohno Satoshi must submit to being punished for bad behaviour or exceptionally bad cooking, although proof of crime must also be submitted at time of accusation._ (That's right, Satoshi, if you try that natto curry on me once more, your butt will wish it had never been born!)

  8. _If Nino hurts Ohno Satoshi in any way without permission, Ohno Satoshi or associates reserve the right to beat him silly._




 

_If all the above regulations are adhered to, Ohno Satoshi will happily surrender to Nino._

 

Then, scrawled at the bottom as an afterthought,

 

_Out of milk._

 

Brilliant way to finish off a treaty, Satoshi.

“Oh-chan,” I say, locating him in the living room and waving the sheet of paper at him, “this is very nice, well done; but don't you think we shouldn't display it on the fridge? I'm sure your mother would be enthralled if she read it.”

“I know,” he says, smiling blithely. “I just wanted you to see it, Nino.”

“That's my clever Oh-chan,” I chuckle, handing it back to him. “But shouldn't I get a super-respectful title like 'Grand Master' or something?” Satoshi eyes me dubiously.

“Isn't that chess?” he asks doubtfully. Oh yeah. I knew I'd heard it _somewhere_. “Nino it stays, then. And you haven't told me your password.”

“Um.” Satoshi looks at the ceiling, deep in thought. “What about...'bonito'?”

“You are not using any kind of fish as a safety word,” I tell him. “Think again.” He scrunches his nose up consideringly, and I want to kiss him, but I can't because I'll break his train of thought.

“All right,” he says. “ _Niji_.”

“Huh?”

“You heard,” he murmurs, shyly, the cheesy little... I shut my eyes for a moment.

“You are _so fucking cute_.”

Satoshi bites his lip, lowering his lashes, and sticks his elbow towards me. I look at the clock. Forty minutes before we have to leave. I grin, pinch him, and push him to the floor.

Needless to say, we're late for work.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long and cracky chapter, mostly involving paintball (not quite sure how that happened, either...). There is only one important plot point in the chapter, and that comes in the last 10 paragraphs, so if idols running around in the woods shouting at each other is not your idea of a fun time, feel free to skip to the end ^^
> 
> Includes paintballing fan art (by me).

I really can't remember when I've been this happy. It takes me a long time to come to this conclusion, after the realignment of my and Satoshi's relationship, because I spend so much time being careful of him, making sure I stick strictly to the guidelines we agreed on, always totally aware of them. At first it was awkward, knowing what I did to him and scared that I'd do it again; but gradually we've settled down, and it's only now that I can see how well this is working.

Satoshi is blooming these days, even in the run up to the start of his drama filming: sleek and bright and contented, because I've regained some control over his nutrition since he (inevitably) got bored with cooking, and even when I'm home too late to see him awake I make sure there's always food left for him. Everyone is pleased with him at the moment, because he shows no sign of the stress that usually follows him when he has a lead role to play, and seems to have adjusted to life by himself.

I don't think anyone guesses that, when work is over, I do not go back to my lonely apartment, nor that my most intimate relationship is no longer with my PS3. Only Aiba thinks any different, and even he couldn't possibly know that I spend my free daytime moments dealing with the mundane affairs of Satoshi's life, and the night-time binding him, beating him and and making love to him until we both collapse in exhausted satisfaction. And it's not only that; I love sleeping with him too, hearing his quiet, steady breath, his limbs carelessly flung over me, his heat in the cold room like a human hot water bottle. And eating with him, bathing him, watching TV with him, all those ordinary, everyday things, I love them too.

So all in all I'm feeling in an expansive mood, even after a long day of flitting between interviews and meetings and filming and the gym, and Satoshi seems equally happy. I nudge him over to give myself more room as we all change out of our PV outfits and back into street clothes, Satoshi morphing from a tailored, elegant little dancer into a scruffbag in baggy UniQlo jeans. Maybe I should work on his wardrobe a little more; at the very least he could own more tight pants, which would be to the benefit of the whole world, not just me.

I'm staring contemplatively at Satoshi's ass, as he's bent over and rooting around for his tshirt, when Jun gives me a push and a 'you pervert' look. I push him back, and we engage in a silent squabble behind our oblivious leader's back, only interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“All right, chaps!” I hear, and our collective manager comes in, rubbing his hands. Uh-oh. He has his relentless expression of good cheer on – something's up.

“Aoki-san,” we chorus, still in various states of undress.

“Well done. You all did very well today.” We nod. Get to the point. “Here's a treat for you,” he beams, while we eye him warily. “No interviews, no dance practice, no performances next Thursday. A nice day off!” Well that sounds delightful; _if_ that's what it is. But this sort of thing has happened before, and even Satoshi is looking suspicious.

“Why?” demands Jun, voicing the question on all our lips.

“A team-building exercise!”

“We're already a team,” I point out, throwing Aiba his pants. “We couldn't be _more_ of a team.”

“It's a management initiative,” says Aoki-san, throwing up his hands as though this has nothing to do with him.

“You _are_ our management!”

“All right,” sighs Jun, at last, because this is not going to go away. “What is it?” Our manager tries to look enthusiastic.

“Paintballing!”

“Ohh...” says Sho from the corner, looking comically crestfallen. A challenging test of stamina and physical skill? No wonder he's worried. We all glower at Aoki-san, except Satoshi, who is wearing the particular expression that means he doesn't understand but feels he shouldn't say so.

“What's paintball?” he asks at last, blinking. Aoki-san opens his mouth to sell the concept to him, but I interrupt.

“It's a stupid game from Europe for middle-management office workers who want to pretend they could be in Halo.” He still looks lost. “You go out into the woods with a bunch of other losers, and you have a gun full of paint, and you and your team run around and try and hit the other team, and you get cold and bored and bruised and people get over-excited and shout at you.”

“Oh.” Satoshi looks neutral about the whole thing. Sho just looks more depressed. Aiba, at the words 'gun full of paint,' has perked up a little.

“It'll be fun!” says Aoki-san, still on his futile attempt at convincing us. Why bother, we're going to have to do it anyway! “No cameras or anything.”

“Right, yes, we're doing it.”

“Anyway, you won't be with middle-management losers,” he continues. Oops. Did I offend him? Or...

“Then who?” I demand.

“Just some other healthy young people, like yourselves.” He's hedging. I recall the phrase 'management initiative,' and begin to feel very suspicious.

“Come on, Aoki-san.”

“Well...some of...Kat-tun.”

“Aww!” Sho and Aiba groan in chorus. I nod gloomily. Figures. This must come right from Johnny.

“...And some of Hey Say -”

“What?!” I snap. Oh, it's going to be him, isn't it, that shortarse little Ohno-obsessive _freak_ (no, that does _not_ refer to me, thank you very much). To make things worse, I see Satoshi smiling quite cheerily as the list goes on.

“It's all right, Nino,” says Jun, wryly, over Aoki-san's wittering, “just think: you'll be able to shoot him.”

“Oh yeah!”

“Well,” exclaims Aoki-san hurriedly, “I'm glad you've come around to it, see you boys first thing tomorrow, bye!” Then he's gone, the door banging behind him. The weasel.

We all heave a collective sigh. I'd better do some target practice.  
  


 

* * *

 

Well, here we are. Seven-thirty on a Thursday morning, and we're on a coach heading out into the middle of nowhere in a fog, being handed out camouflage gear and sensible boots with various other hapless members of Johnny's who haven't managed to wriggle out of the situation. Aiba, Jun and I have claimed seats at the back, as befits our seniority, where Jun can nap sulkily and I can throw screwed-up bits of _Myojo_ at members of NEWS. Sho, on the other hand, has been cornered by Nakamaru and Ueda from Kat-tun, and is trying in vain to read the paper while they talk over his head.

Satoshi, as soon as he gets on the bus, gives a quiet bounce of satisfaction and drops into a seat next to...Ah, Toma, who brightens up immediately and proceeds to feed him senbei by hand. When I crane forward to look at them next, Satoshi has moved the arm-rest between them so he can snuggle up closer and let Toma indulge him with sleepy chatter and shy little pats of the shoulder. Well, I don't mind that; it's not as though Toma has bandmates of his own to annoy him, and he was looking kind of lost; and ever since Maoh (which was a taxing time for Satoshi no matter how brilliant he was in it) there's been a kind of affection between them. I'm not of a jealous disposition, and -

Oh, wait. Of course I am. My eyes come to rest on the shrieking, giggling members of Hey Say NYC Jump 7, or whatever the hell they're called, in all their infinite and interchangeable multitude, who have commandeered the entire front section of the coach because no reasonable adults can bear that level of noise so early in the morning. Where's their babysitter? Oh yes; I spot their harrassed-looking manager next to Aoki-san, who is fanning him sympathetically with a schedule.

I let out an involuntary growl as I finally spot that little demon in disguise, Chinen Yuri, sitting in the middle of his wiggling mass of bandmates and staring hopefully at Satoshi, who is too engrossed in Toma and his snacks to notice him. Tch. I thought the whole Satoshi obsession had died down, but every time I open a magazine lately the child is there, blithering on about our leader's many talents. As if they need to be listed!

At this point Jun cracks an eye open, follows my line of sight, and smiles drily.

“Still not over it, I see,” he says. I fold my arms and sniff. He stretches, all long limbs and elegance. “What are you going to do to him?”

“I think I'm slightly more mature than that,” I reply haughtily, leaning back. Next to me, Aiba is yelling out a conversation about underwear with Nishikido Ryo down the length of the bus, but I manage to stay cool. “I'll just shoot him _lightly_ in the back of the head, and kick his team's arse.”

Jun snorts, and I settle down for the drive, sighing contentedly under my breath. If Chinen Yuri is a demon, then I am the Devil himself.  
  
  


* * *

 

When we arrive at the paintballing ground, however, my plan is swiftly scuppered by the information that Chinen will be on _my_ team. Bugger. I complain in a loud whisper to the organiser, and am informed that Hey Say Whatever are too young to be a team all by themselves, and likely to fall into ditches or down cliffs if not supervised (I smirk), and are hence to be split among the responsible adults.

I look around at my particular responsible adults, getting dressed in their combat gear: Satoshi is sitting there sleepily, mourning the loss of Toma to the enemy and holding his gun gingerly as if he doesn't know which end is which; various members of NEWS are stuffing their faces and paying no attention to the children in our midst; and Aiba, worryingly, has a bandanna tied round his head and is applying war-paint with a manic gleam in his eye. How much help are they going to be? What a motley bunch I have to work with; but I will not be beaten by Kat-tun, dammit!

“Right!” We all wince at the volume of voice that has just assaulted us, and turn round. There, I presume, is the referee; either that or he just escaped from the army and is looking for new recruits to traumatise. I sigh. I knew I was going to get shouted at. “Teams! Listen up. We're going to have a good clean game, and half of you will have the glory of capturing the flag!” Why are these people always so bloody enthusiastic? Satoshi is blinking up at the guy, and – Chinen, the brat, is gazing fixedly at Satoshi with a moonstruck expression. “The other half of you,” the instructor continues, “will probably end up dead.” Satoshi and some of the children look alarmed.

“Metaphor,” I mutter at them.

“If you are hit with a paintball and it breaks,” the referee continues, rapping idols on the head with his megaphone left right and centre to make them pay attention, “you are dead and will clear the field. If one of you breaks a limb, play will be suspended.” Oh, that's encouraging. “Any questions?”

“If we get shot, can we go home?” asks Ueda.

“Any real questions?” We gaze at him gloomily. “That's it, then. May the best men win!”

I hear a litany of grumbles as our teams split up and follow crazy army guy's subordinates into the woods. It's still misty, and it looks like rain is on the way. I could be in bed right now, letting Satoshi give me a morning treat. Bastard team-building. After walking for about ten minutes, the subordinate splits our group in two, leaving Sho, Aiba, Nishikido and a bunch of the teenagers behind a wooden bunker with a list of instructions. The rest of us trek on, Satoshi wandering dreamily in his own world, until we're blocked by a steep slope and a concrete shelter.

“Ok,” says the subordinate in a stealth whisper. “Here's where you start. The flag is a kilometre away, North-North-East. Who's got the map and compass?”

“Me,” says Jun in a bored voice.

“Well done.” He shoos Satoshi a little further under the shelter. “Well, goggles on, and if you get hurt, just scream.” Oh, thank you very much. “When you hear the horn, you can start.”

“Can't wait,” I tell him, insanely bright, and Jun and some other guys behind me snigger. He nods, and then he's gone, back down the trail. I heave another sigh and make myself comfortable, insofar as that's possible, and elbow Jun. “Where are we going, then?”

Jun flicks his perfect hair out of his eyes, looking about as much like a soldier as Barbie, and opens the map confidently. “We have to get up that slope without them taking us out from above. Then...turn right, and there's some kind of obstacle. Then straight through the trees, it looks like.” I hope he knows what he's doing, because I wouldn't trust Jun to admit it even if he'd never seen a map in his life before. I check my gun over; it seems straightforward.

“Ohno-kun,” pipes up a little voice, “can I sit next to you? This is freaking me out.” Why, that little -

Satoshi pats the ground beside him, and Chinen crawls into the space, and my idiot leader rubs his back comfortingly.

“Don't worry, you'll be safe with me.” Oh really. I think, when we get home, I might have to administer some punishment. And maybe add a new rule to the list. And does Satoshi even know he's holding his gun upside down?

The horn sounds, harsh and echoing, and I jump.

“Come on then,” mutters Jun. “Let's do this.” I sigh again. I have to play properly if I want to accomplish my three main objectives: humiliate Kat-tun, stop my lover getting shot, and prevent Chinen Yuri from laying a hand on him for the rest of the day.

It's not going to be easy.

 

Ten minutes later, and I'm sweating as we dive for the cover of a shallow ditch masked by damp ferns; I'm covered in dirt, I've scraped my hand on a branch and I may well have an earthworm down the back of my pants, but I'm still alive, which is more than can be said for three other members of the team, who got taken out as soon as we broke cover. The bastard blue team must have been right at the top of the slope; thankfully they're just as crap shots as we are, or we'd have been in big trouble. As it is, Ueda is down, thanks to one or other of NEWS, and one of their child division.

“Ok,” whispers Jun, folding the map back up and tucking it inside his shirt, “we'll follow this ditch as far as we can to the right, then we'll get over the fence or whatever it is, and we'll be half way.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I tell our self-appointed commander, waving him ahead. “We're following.” Jun nods, rubs a smudge of dirt from his cheek, and crawls off.

“Oh-chan.” Satoshi is staring up at the gently drifting mist and the pattern of leaves above us. “We're going.” I glare at Chinen, who is sidling in our direction. “You.” I point to the only member of NEWS who can fire straight. “Keep the children safe.” He rolls his eyes.

So, off we all go, asses in the air, leaf mould and bracken beneath our hands. Jun is making tiny noises of distaste up ahead; I soon get bored of this, and manoeuvre Satoshi to crawl in front of me. There. That's a much better view. Soon enough, however, the ditch shallows and then runs out, and we're visible among the trees again. I look around warily. I can't hear anything much, and the mist is impeding visibility beyond about thirty metres.

“How far?” I mutter to Jun, and he shrugs and beckons us. We all troop along, even the teenagers quiet now. Then, abruptly, we all come to a stop.

“I thought you said it was a fence!” exclaims Satoshi to Jun in a stage whisper. We turn to glare at our map-reader.

“I said I didn't know!” hisses back Jun defensively. “There isn't a key!”

I sigh. We all stare resignedly at the river in front of us. Well, not so much a river as a large stream, but still more cold water than I like to be confronted with before about April.

“ _What_ do we do now, then?”

“Go around?” suggests Chinen, hopefully. Jun raises his eyebrows.

“You do _know_ how a river works, don't you?” he says. Hah, take that, shorty! We all stare some more, glumly. Then Satoshi, who is gazing absently around as usual, points.

“Tree,” he says.

“Well done, Ohno-kun,” pipes up a voice from the back, “we're in a wood.” Everyone ignores this after a brief snigger, because what Satoshi is actually indicating is a large fallen sapling among the undergrowth on the bank of the stream. Ah. With the seven of us actually working together (a minor miracle), we manage to stand it on end at the edge of the water, and with a judicious amount of bossiness from Jun, it falls in the correct direction, crashing to the other side and spanning the stream.

“Fuck, that was loud,” says Jun. “Nino, Yamada-kun, keep a lookout while we cross, quick, quick!” Everyone does as they're told and trots across the bridge, the kid and I with our guns aimed at the woods behind and in front of us. Come on, I haven't shot anyone for ages! I grin to myself as someone nearly falls in. Satoshi wanders across with his ever-surprising grace, hopping off to crouch in the undergrowth on the other side. I cross last, and we push the end of the tree into the water so the blue team can't use it.

At Jun's instruction we move diagonally away from the river, and are soon right among the trees, a little copse of close-growing evergreens. It's dark under here; I accidentally tread on Chinen's foot as he edges up to Satoshi.

“Hold my hand, Oh-chan,” I suggest, and he slides his fingers around mine, letting me thread our way through the trees. I don't see how we're going to see the other team to shoot at them even if they're ten feet away.

“Ah, there they go!” Away far ahead and to our right comes the faint popping sound of paint, and we pick up the pace. Emerging cautiously from the thick foliage, the first thing I notice is that it's started to rain. Wonderful. The second thing I notice is Sho, wandering disconsolately across the clearing, a large patch of blue on his back.

“Psst!” I beckon him over. “Where is everyone?” Sho points in the direction the noise came from.

“About ten minutes that way, they're in a shelter, but Aiba's taking them down.” I can just imagine.

“What happened to you?” I ask, indicating his back. Sho pulls a face.

“I got shot in the first five minutes,” he tells me, looking unsurprised. “I wasn't quick enough.” A thought strikes me.

“How the hell did you lot get over to this side?” Sho shrugs.

“There's a bridge back up that way.” We all turn and glower at Jun, who tosses his hair and looks unrepentant. Sho sighs. “Well, I suppose I'm out. I'm going to go sit in the bus.” I clap him on the shoulder sympathetically, and he shuffles off. We also turn, and creep off in the direction he indicated, moving slowly, stealthily and as quietly as a group of idiot amateurs can move, until we come upon the shelter all of a sudden. There's no-one here. No Aiba, no Nishikido, no blue team, just paint stains of both colours on the surrounding trees.

“What now, genius?” I demand, turning to Jun, who has his map out again.

“Keep going this way,” he says, ignoring my snarky tone, “and turn left where it goes up hill again. The flag should be right on top of the slope.”

So off we go again, I've got Satoshi by my side protectively, someone behind me is reciting dirty haiku... Then I see a flashing burst of colour ahead, and Yamada is yelping at the blue paint-splash on his stomach.

“Duck!” I yell, tackling Satoshi to the ground, idols dropping down around me like flies. People are swearing left and right, paint dripping, and with a curse I look up and see Nakamaru shooting from behind a tree, more shadowy figures firing ineptly around him. Fuck. I turn to nudge the NEWS guy, but he shrugs and points to his chest, which is blue.

“I'm out.”

“Shit.” I lift my gun carefully, close one eye and fire at Nakamaru. Bugger, I missed. A second later, though, Jun's random shot hits the guy next to him in a burst of yellow. Hah, suck on that! I roll off Satoshi, who is still lying obediently beneath me. “Oh-chan, just keep firing over there.” I point to the trees, and he starts shooting, leisurely. I shake my head at him. I suppose that's the best we're going to get. I look around, to take stock of the situation. Oh, great. Half my team is sloping off, grumbling and paint-covered. I sigh. What are my remaining assets? Jun, who is coolly picking off Blues beside me; Satoshi; and, oh, damn it, Chinen is still alive. Typical.

At last the remaining enemy retreats into the woods; I guess they're going to race for the flag.

“Go!” hisses Jun, and the four of us start to run, a measured trot, and we're all idols so we can probably keep up this pace 'til we reach the hill.

I hear the movement before I see it; there's someone out there.

“Get down there!” I yell, pointing and diving into a dip in the ground, and the others leap down around me. Except -

“Put your hands in the air, Oh-chan.” Oh, bugger bugger bugger. I raise my eyes above the edge of the dip. There is Satoshi, who has not reacted quickly enough to my voice. I'll deal with that issue when I get him home. Right now he's standing with his arms raised, and someone is emerging from behind a tree to point their gun at him.

“Hi, Toma!” he says brightly.

“Oh-chan!” replies Toma, just as happily. Beside me Jun is swearing at Toma familiarly and exasperatedly; Toma is looking in our direction, and I know if we so much as raise our guns he'll shoot.

“Just let him go,” calls Jun from our hiding place. “He's no use anyway.”

“Ahh, I couldn't possibly do that,” says Toma regretfully, his eyes darting around. What's he looking for? Is he expecting back-up? “I'm gonna have to kill you, Oh-chan.”

“Oh,” says Satoshi, blinking at him. “Go on, then.” Toma blinks back at him. Probably stunned by the cute.

“I will!”

“Ok.” They stare at each other, Satoshi looking like a sad little puppy. On my other side, Chinen makes a lovestruck noise. I accidentally bang him on the head with my gun, and he drops back quickly. We all wait. Come on, Toma, I'm getting hungry. Satoshi starts to tap his foot.

“I can't do it!” yells Toma, desperately, staring at Satoshi standing there, all small and big-eyed and vulnerable, over the barrel of his gun. Wooh. This feels like a weird deja-vu. Satoshi gives him a sweet, affectionate smile, his hands still in the air. What a charming moment.

“Oh just get on with it!” calls Jun from beside me, almost bouncing with excited impatience. I eye him incredulously.

“No, I mean I literally can't,” Toma informs us resignedly at the top of his voice, and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. “I'm out of ammo. I was hoping someone would come before you found out.” I burst out laughing at the same moment as Jun. Satoshi blinks, puts his hands down, gives Toma another smile. What a sap. Then before I can shout at him, he raises his gun with perfectly steady hands, closes one eye and shoots Toma square in the chest.

“Ow!” complains Toma, raising his hand to the yellow stain and looking mildly betrayed. “That hurt!”

“Oh yeah, Leader!” bellows Jun from our hiding place, raising his fist triumphantly. “Serizawa goes down again!”

“What is _wrong_ with you, GI Jane?” I hiss out of the corner of my mouth. “You've gone all peculiar.”

“I am a winner, Nino,” Jun tells me, grabbing the front of my army jacket. “And I am going to win! And you, and Leader,” who has just stumbled into the safety of the hollow, “and Short Round over there,” nodding at Chinen in the corner, “are coming with me. Get it?!”

“Whatever you say,” I agree equably. See, this is what this stupid game does to people. We wait in the hollow for a minute, listening; but no sign of Toma's hoped-for back-up. Toma himself has trotted off, back to the bus, so we creep out of cover and jog onwards; the ground to our left is beginning to slope upwards, and Jun points us silently. We begin to climb, I can see drizzly light ahead of us. After what seems like forever (I'm puffing like a steam train), the end of the trees comes in sight; we slow down, cautious, and then Jun throws his arm out, hitting Satoshi in the chest.

“Up there,” he mouths, when we turn to look at him. I squint; very dimly, I can see the shapes of lookouts among the fringe of trees, staring away and down the hill to the left. They're looking for _us_ , in the wrong place, typical Kat-tun, but if we move any closer we'll be sitting ducks, as it were. We crouch down, very carefully.

“What do we do?” asks Chinen in a whisper. His hand is on Satoshi's back. Rude kid, didn't anyone ever teach you not to touch other people's things? I stare at him, and at the lookouts, and one corner of my mouth curls up. I catch Jun's eye, look pointedly at Chinen. Jun shrugs at me for a second, then catches on; he shakes his head disapprovingly, but grins.

“Chinen-kun,” I murmur, and he twitches. Am I really that scary to him? I guess if I was seventeen and that tiny, I might scare me too. “Listen carefully. We're nearly at the flag. We can do this.” He nods vigorously. Poor little idiot. “But we need a diversion.” I clap a hand on his shoulder in a comradely way. “That's right, this is your moment: you've got to get out there, and _take one for the team_.”

“Huh?”

“You go back down the hill,” I tell him, pointing, “then come up again where they're looking, and run in the opposite direction to where we are now. Then we'll take advantage of the distraction, and _beat_ them! Ok?”

“But...” he says, looking pitiful. Don't bother, kid, you will never be as good at this as Satoshi. “I'll get killed.”

“You probably will,” I say solemnly. “But what a noble cause!” Over Chinen's shoulder, Jun is making throwing-up gestures at me. I ignore him. “Don't you want to save Ohno-kun's life?” Chinen goes misty-eyed immediately. Satoshi pricks up his ears at the mention of his name, and smiles softly at the brat.

“That's very...heroic, Chinen-kun.” That'll do the trick. Chinen salutes, gulps, and crawls off down the hill, with one last lingering look back at Satoshi. Brilliant, I am brilliant. Now we wait. Satoshi has woken up, it seems, and is looking around bright-eyed, apparently surprised that we're nearly at the end.

“We're going to do this, Oh-chan,” I tell him in a whisper, patting his hand. Jun ruffles his hair.

Five minutes later, and one of the figures up the slope gives a shout. From the corner of my eye I see Chinen break cover, and the lookouts immediately open fire at him.

“Go!” hisses Jun, and we tear silently up the slope, while the pop pop of guns sounds in the other direction; I throw a glance to the left; Chinen is running as fast as he can on his tiny legs. Come on, Blues! Fucking awful shots. Just before we break out of the trees I see blue paintballs hit him twice in the back and the thigh. Oh yeah, go Kat-tun! I grin, and then curse as a ball zings past me to splatter harmlessly in the bushes. We're clear of the trees now, and I can see the flag, above a rough and hillocky stretch of ground, planted high on a pedestal; but now that Chinen is dead (wahaha), the lookouts are turning back and have spotted us; we're nearly out of range, Satoshi ahead and Jun panting behind me; but they'll follow.

“Shit!!” I shout, not having anything more useful to say. Paintballs are whizzing round our ears now, and Satoshi speeds up, finding a burst of energy from somewhere, but Nakamaru's child division is _young_ , damn it, and they're catching up. Then,

“Guys!!” comes a delighted yell from ahead of us, and to my amazement Aiba bounces up to my right, apparently out of the ground, brandishing a gun in each hand and his face covered in mud. “Go, go, go!” he shouts in complete over-excitement, gesturing to the flag above us as we rush up to him.

“Aiba!” I manage as we tear past. “What the hell are you doing, this isn't Rambo!”

“Winning!” he tells me, laughing slightly maniacally and leaping out of the trench he's obviously been hiding in, firing off miraculously accurate rounds at the blue team. I get it; he must have bunked up in this hiding place, and so the Blues haven't been able to get near the flag, because as soon as they come out of the trees Aiba would start shooting at them as he's doing right now (and where did he learn to shoot, anyway? Aiba never fails to amaze); and likewise, Aiba couldn't go for the flag because the Blues would pick him off while he was reaching for it.

“Are you coming, or what?!” I shout over my shoulder, but he's advancing on the remaining members of the other team, drawing their fire and hitting targets almost every time.

“I shall make the supreme sacrifice!” he yells. Drama queen. I turn my back on him, giggling, and race after the other two, to the top of the slope. Jun and I catch up with Satoshi at the bottom of the flagstaff.

“Can't reach,” says Satoshi breathlessly. I'm not surprised, it's about ten feet up.

“Dammit, Leader, this is no time to be a Negative Nancy!” bellows Jun. I think someone's going to need therapy after this, before Jun develops a tyrant complex. “Get up here!” He pats his own shoulders, and Satoshi drops his gun, springing lightly into the footrest Jun makes with his cupped hands, and then up to kneel across his shoulders. I cover the surrounding area: there are Blues out there, running towards us, but they're too far, and yes! Satoshi has grabbed the edge of the flag in his elegant (if dirty) fingers, and tears it free, tumbling down Jun's back to land on his ass in the mud. He leaps to his feet, and Jun cheers, I cheer, why the hell am I so excited? It must be infectious. Satoshi is grinning from ear to ear, lifting the flag high above his head. I see the Blues slow down, dispirited. All right, one in the eye for Kat-tun! Go Arashi! I turn back, and am about to sweep them into a congratulatory hug, when Jun stops cheering, drops his gun, and grabs Satoshi's upraised arm.

“Leader,” he says, and Satoshi looks up at him, surprised at the sudden change in tone. “What the hell is this?”

“Huh?” says Satoshi, intelligently.

“ _This_.” Jun shakes his arm where his jacket sleeve has ridden up, and I freeze. On Satoshi's brown wrist, red and and painful-looking, are the distinct marks of rope burns. “Where did this come from?” he insists, still gripping Satoshi's arm tightly.

Fuck. Obviously, I know exactly where it came from: it came from me, last night, when I tied his wrists behind him (with rope Satoshi stole from a fishing boat, which, I might add in hindsight, is apparently not the right kind of rope at all) and then tormented him until he was writhing to get away and touch himself. It rubbed him raw, and it wasn't until I untied it that we realised just how much it was the wrong kind of rope. I cleaned him up, and didn't even think about it after asking Satoshi if he was really ok; it's still practically winter, he wasn't going to be wearing short sleeves, after all. No-one was meant to fucking see it!

“Um,” says Satoshi, flinching backwards before Jun's aggressive concern.

“Is someone bullying you?” demands Jun, scowling at his hesitation. “You can tell us, Leader.” Satoshi shakes his head vehemently, and manages a little laugh.

“No, of course not!” He makes to move away, but Jun isn't letting go. “I was net-fishing the other day, and I had the rope wound round my arm for leverage, but it was too heavy and I had to let it go in a rush, and it burned me.” Jun looks unconvinced, which is unsurprising because Satoshi is not a very good liar and that one wouldn't fool a five year old. Come on, Jun, he obviously doesn't want to talk about it, let it drop!

“Hey, winners!” comes a breathless, ecstatic voice from behind me, and Aiba gallops up, covered head to toe in blue paint (and a blue handprint on his ass – fraternising with the enemy, I see). “My sacrifice was worth it, then!” Nobody says anything, and he frowns, readjusting to the atmosphere. “What's wrong, guys?”

“ _This_ ,” Jun spits, whirling Satoshi round, wrenching a little sound of complaint from him, to display his arm to Aiba. “He says he got it fishing.”

Aiba looks from Jun to the injury to me, and back round again. Then his eyes open very wide, and fuck, of _course_ , Aiba _knows_ about me and he may be dippy but he can put two and two together and...Fuck. He knows. Aiba opens his mouth, then looks at me and closes it again, slowly, an expression of bemused amazement gathering on his blue face.

“I'm telling you, Jun-kun,” says Satoshi again in a vaguely annoyed voice. “I'm telling all of you. It was just an accident. Let's go back, please!” Jun, how can you resist those pleading eyes?!

“Yeah,” agrees Aiba, after a pause. “You know how many times I've hurt myself during A no Arashi.” Jun remains dubious. Both Satoshi and Aiba turn their puppy-dog faces on him. There's a long, tense moment of silence; then Jun laughs shortly and lets Satoshi go, ruffling his hair briefly.

“Just be more careful, ok?”

Satoshi nods meekly, lets Aiba sling a paint-encrusted arm around his shoulders, and begins the long walk down the hill, flag still clutched to his chest.

“Nino,” says Jun in an undertone, stopping me as I make to follow them. Uh-oh. “I'm going to be watching Leader from now on.” Exactly what does that mean, Jun? “You should keep an eye on him as well, I'm worried.” Ahh, it's not a threat.

“If you think we should,” I agree, doubtfully.

“He wasn't telling us the truth,” Jun states emphatically, darkly. “And lately he's had bruises on his back, I've seen them.”

“Um,” I say neutrally. “It might be nothing, though.”

“It might,” agrees Jun, hefting both guns and jerking his chin at me. We start walking. “But if it isn't, if it turns out someone is hurting Leader, I'll _find_ them. And they'll wish they'd never met me.”

I nod. What else can I do? He lapses into thoughtful silence and we walk down the hill, winners, in the rain.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, crack over for now. Back to the kink!

That night I hold Satoshi to me, tangled together in his bed, and think about what happened. I can't get over Jun's righteous anger at anyone who might want to hurt our Leader. This is the first time anyone has noticed anything, and I find I do not like how it makes me feel, like I'm hiding some crime, some dirty secret.

“Maybe he's right,” I say softly to Satoshi, and he shifts his head on my chest sleepily. “Maybe this is all wrong.” Satoshi tightens his arms around me and nuzzles his nose into my neck, and I wonder again just what this is we're doing: friendship with extreme benefits, a convenient arrangement to give Satoshi what he needs? What do _I_ need? I don't even know.

“Does this feel wrong?” he demands, his fingers light and clinging around my hip.

“I mean hurting you,” I tell him, letting my own fingers trail down to stroke his sore wrist, and even now it makes him shiver. “Sometimes I think it too...that if I really wanted to look after you, I wouldn't be doing this.”

“Jun-kun is just worried,” says Satoshi firmly, yawning, “because he doesn't understand. You do look after me, exactly the way I want.”

“Even if he knew that, he wouldn't _understand_. He'd kill me.”

“He does see things in black and white,” agrees Satoshi. “Don't worry about Jun-kun, I can handle him.” I think he may be rather overestimating his own abilities here, but I don't say so. “We'll just be more careful,” he murmurs, yawning again as I stroke his hair affectionately.

“Do I make you happy, Oh-chan?” I ask, before he drops into sleep.

“Mmm.”

“...Ok.”

I lie awake long after he's asleep and snoring; then I give up and carefully untangle his limbs from mine, get out of bed and wander to the kitchen, putting the kettle on and warming my hands against its sides. I'm just pouring the tea when my phone rings from the living-room; I glance at my watch: two in the morning, what the hell? I pick up the phone. It's Aiba. Am I really ready to talk to him? It keeps ringing. Oh well, no time like the present, and he can't make me feel worse than Jun already has.

“Aiba, are you psychic or something?”

“Eh?” comes Aiba's voice, a little bit slurred but perfectly cheerful.

“How did you know I'd be up?”

“I didn't.” I hear a bang. What _is_ he doing? “I just got in. We all went out drinking after you and Leader left.”

“That's nice.”

“He's with you, isn't he,” states Aiba. Straight to the point as usual.

“He's asleep.” What's the use in lying to Aiba? He isn't stupid.

“You're living with him.” All right, what are you trying to say? Am I in for a talking-to? “Nino...” A pregnant pause, and I sit down, ready to take it. “...It's great!” Huh?

“...Is it?” I ask cautiously. He laughs his gurgling laugh.

“Well, it's totally stupid, and dangerous, and risky.” And that is great how, exactly? “But you and Leader...Yeah, it works, I can roll with that!”

“Aren't you...shocked?”

“Ooh, terribly.” Sarcasm does not become you, Aiba. He calms down a bit. “Well, I was surprised when I figured it out, I'll give you that! But Nino, I knew about _your_ little habit already. And finding out Leader might lean towards submissiveness, and that he might lean towards _you_ , is hardly a bolt from the blue.”

“And...you're not angry.” Aiba makes a thoughtful humming noise.

“Have you been following my advice?” Is this professional concern, or is he just nosy? It's so hard to tell with Aiba.

“Oh-chan wrote the list himself,” I reassure him.

“And you're taking care of him?”

“I _am_.”

“Then why should I be angry?”

“...I'm hurting him,” I mutter. Now that I say it to someone else, it does sound wrong, terribly wrong. Aiba makes a dismissive noise down the phone.

“Did he ask you to?”

“Of course!”

“Then stop making such a big deal about it.” Well, so sorry I think of this as a big deal, just because you're so worldly, Masaki! “Nino,” he continues, and I think he's laughing at me, “you really think you're the only couple in the world that does these things? You're a tiiiiny little fish in a massive pond. Hey. Hey, Nino, are you still there?”

I make some assenting noise, but I'm still stuck on his use of the word _couple_. Satoshi and I are a couple, and not just to ourselves but to someone out there in the real world. That feels nice.

“Being a little fish is all very well,” I tell him eventually, “I'm sure Oh-chan will be delighted to hear it. But we have a problem, don't we.”

“We do?”

“No, _we_ do. Jun,” I explain. “He told me he's going to be watching Oh-chan from now on. He didn't believe any of that stuff Oh-chan fed him back at the flag.”

“Ahh, Jun-kun,” Aiba says fondly. “He really cares about Leader.”

“So do I!”

“There you go, getting all prickly,” says Aiba, unconcerned. “I can see why Leader chose _you_. Jun-kun...I know everyone calls him the DoS, but y'know, he's a pussy cat. He could never hurt Leader. And he'll _never_ be able to accept that Leader might want to be hurt.”

“I know.” Talk about stating the obvious.

“He'd go mad if he knew what you were doing with him.”

“I _know_.”

“He'd better not find out.”

“ _I know!!_ ” God, Masaki, could you be any less helpful? “So what do I do?”

“Oh!” Honestly, why do you think I'm telling you all this embarrassing shit in the first place if not to get your advice? “Well, for starters you can use better equipment. If you get proper stuff, it won't leave wicked marks like that by accident.”

“What, you can _buy_ this stuff?”

“You can buy _anything_ ,” says Aiba, happily. “And if you are going to leave marks, make sure you look over your schedule first and check he's not going to have to get undressed in public.”

“Right, I'll try,” I agree. I can't believe I'm going to have a schedule for sex. If this keeps up, pretty much the only bit of my life that isn't organised by the minute will be using the bathroom.

“And mostly...just keep Leader happy,” Aiba tells me. “That's the best defence against Jun-kun's suspicion. And I'll keep Jun-kun busy.” I don't even want to know what that entails.

“I _do_ make him happy,” I state unequivocally.

“Then there's nothing to worry about.” Aiba makes life sound so easy. I wonder how he does it.

“Ok.”

“Feel better?”

“A bit,” I concede. It just feels so surprisingly good to know there's one person out there who knows about us and doesn't think it's totally abhorrent. “Thanks, Aiba.”

“The deviant is always happy to help,” he says, yawning at me. “Look, I'm about to crash. See you Saturday. And play nice for a few days, huh?”

“Thanks,” I say again, and he hangs up. I put my phone down and tiptoe back to the bedroom; Satoshi is sprawled across the bed, the curve of his bare back and the faint smile on his beautiful mouth just _perfect_. I clamber in and he rolls towards me, fitting himself around me neatly. Aiba's right. Satoshi was _made_ for me; and I'm going to keep him.  
  
  


* * *

 

“Ohhhh-chan!” I call as I come in, dropping my keys in the pot and kicking my shoes off. “I'm home!”

It's now about a week after the not-altogether-wonderful events of the paint-balling field trip, and things are back to normal, as far as 'normal' goes in Arashi. Satoshi and I have eased up a bit on the tying, temporarily, and his wrists are smooth and golden again. Jun's suspicions might not have been alleviated, but they're certainly on the back burner, which I put down to a combination of the new single and Aiba, who has suddenly taken to pranking Jun and Sho with a vengeance, which is both amusing and of great use in taking the heat off Satoshi, who is about to start filming his new drama and is, as usual, a little nervous.

“Oh-chan!” I call again. No answer. That's weird, he normally comes to kiss me at the door, and I know he's here, his keys are in the pot. I drop my bag and stroll through to the living-room. Ahh, there he is, curled into the corner of the sofa and reading assiduously. It must be his script, I think at first. “Didn't you hear me?” I ask in amusement; I'll just say hello, then I'll make some food and stay out of his way 'til he's finished. “You're miles away.”

He looks up at me then, and I frown: his face is pale, his pupils dilated. Huh. I don't really remember Kaibutsu-kun having that effect on its readers.

“Are you ok?” I ask, dropping down beside him, and he holds whatever he's reading out to me.

“Did you send me this?” he says, and he almost sounds...excited? Scared? I look down. Whoa. Whatever the hell this is, suffice to say I did _not_. I snatch it from him, and stare at the cover. It's a catalogue, and I suddenly know who sent it, Aiba Masaki, I am going to kill you! This, I presume, is what Aiba means by 'better equipment'.

“I didn't order this,” I tell him categorically, “but I think I know who did.” I grasp it by the spine and am about to tear it up when Satoshi leans over and snatches it back. “Oi!” I say. He blushes, but doesn't hand it over.

“Who?” he asks, and he sounds worried, of course he is, I never told him about Masaki!

“Aiba,” I tell him. He blinks, astonished, well, he would be, he's never heard Aiba's filthy stories. “Long story,” I tell him, “but he knows.”

“Oh!”

“It's ok,” I reassure him, “he wouldn't tell anyone. And he gave me some good advice, about the list and everything, you know?”

“Oh...”

“Don't be mad, Oh-chan,” I say softly, stroking his cheek with one finger. “He just...guessed.”

“...I'm not mad.” He doesn't sound too sure about that. I guess it's a lot to take in, that someone else _knows_ about him, about us. I nod at the offending catalogue.

“Aren't you going to let me get rid of that?” He gives me a glance, and he suddenly looks shy, embarrassed, but he holds onto it.

“All this stuff,” he murmurs, opening it and riffling through the pages, “I didn't even know it _existed_.” I look over his shoulder, and gulp. No wonder he'd gone pale! The pages are fields of black and shiny chrome; I tilt my head; I can't even work out what half of it is, it looks like stuff you'd find in an evil engineer's toolbox. Satoshi flicks through it more slowly. It looks like there's everything in here, everything you could possibly use to tie someone up and hurt them. Now previously, I would have looked at this and just gone 'huh,' but thinking of it now in the context of Satoshi's body...Ew, it's creepy!

Satoshi, on the other hand, is looking at it carefully, curiously, and I can feel him begin to shiver against me. What page is he on now? I peer over his shoulder; oh, eww, Satoshi, why are you looking at that stuff, that would never fit inside you! I think I've already proved I'm not a prude, but really, just...ugh!

“All right, that's enough, Oh-chan,” I order, because it's making _me_ feel weird now. “Put it down.” Satoshi looks up, and his eyes are wide and dreamy; he leans towards me, presses an open-mouthed kiss below my ear.

“Nino -”

“Ohhh no,” I exclaim, overriding him immediately before he says what I think he's going to say. “You can just forget it, Oh-chan!”

“Why?” he asks, innocently. Simpleton.

“I am not buying any of this,” I state flatly.

“Why?” Argh.

“Because one,” I tell him, grabbing the catalogue and waving it at him, “have you seen how much this crap costs?! It's extortionate!” Then again, Satoshi and I have very different ideas about the value of money. “And two,” I continue, because he's still making that wistful, hopeful face at me, “I will not use this stuff on you, so you might as well forget it.”

“Why?”

“Because it's fucking terrifying,” I say bluntly, and let that be an end to it.

“Oh.” Yes, I know that sounds stupid when it's _him_ who'd be on the receiving end, but still! Oh, now he looks so disappointed. But no. No, it would be too freaky to see all that metal and leather and...stuff anywhere near Satoshi's body. I throw the troublesome catalogue away behind me, and pin him against the sofa, running my fingers up his arm to pinch him, and he nods, of course he does, because he's already hard.

“Isn't this enough?” I ask, leaning down to kiss him roughly, pushing a knee between his thighs, trailing my mouth down to bite at his collarbone and tug at his nipples cruelly through the fabric of his shirt. His hands wind in my hair and he moans, legs wrapping around me.

“Well?” I demand, my fingers invading his pants. “Aren't I enough?” He nods, gasping as my nails sink into the soft flesh of his ass, and I quickly get him off before he can think of arguing about this any more, then push him down to his knees, to forget everything in the fabulous heat of his mouth.

 _Aiba Masaki_ , is the last thing I think before sweet oblivion engulfs me, _I am going to kill you_.  
  
  


* * *

 

I spend a happy hour the next morning calling Aiba every name under the sun for interfering in my relationship and putting _horrible_ ideas in Satoshi's head with that damn catalogue. Aiba is unfazed by my apoplectic yelling, and merely comments that if it's something Leader wants, I should think very carefully about trying it, because if I don't want the job there are plenty of people who would. I ask who; he tells me, with Leader looking like he does, about five guys on any street corner, for a start. I just give him a withering glare at this. Still, I got it off my chest, and I feel a bit better.

Satoshi continues to seem quite gratifyingly satisfied with our sex life, and after a while I forget about the whole thing because he's started filming his drama and I'm too entranced by his rich chestnut hair, grown the perfect length for pulling, and how almost criminally cute he looks in his little outfit and big ears, to dwell on how creeped out I was. I wonder if they'll let him bring his costume home one day...probably not. Still, that's a minor detail in a smooth-running month.

So I'm not bothered by anything much this lazy weekend afternoon, except that I thought it was _Satoshi's_ job to clean the kitchen. So much for that, because here I am scrubbing the sides while he lounges on the living-room floor and doodles in his sketch-book. This submission thing...no-one could be more perfect than Satoshi at the physical side of things, but the domestic side leaves a _lot_ to be desired these days.

“Why am I doing this, Oh-chan?” I call through to him irritably, squirting bleach liberally around the place. “I thought we agreed: I do the cooking, you clean up!”

“I need to learn my lines,” he replies, and I slap the cleaning cloth down on the counter.

“Then learn them!” I tell him, stepping out of the kitchen to aim a sponge at his head. He doesn't flinch, just stretches lazily, letting his tshirt ride up. That's not going to work this time, Satoshi! I'm about to pick up the contents of the washing-up bowl and pour it over him when the doorbell rings. A lucky escape!

I look through the peep-hole in the door. Ah, Yamato-Kuroneko. I pull open the door and the delivery guy starts bowing gratefully, and no wonder, because the box he's carrying is practically half as big as him.

“Package for Ohno-san,” he says, bright red and puffing, “will you sign?” (desperately). I nod and quickly scribble my signature at the bottom of the delivery note, then take the box from his arms. He starts bowing again, and I smile and shut the door. Oof, this is quite heavy.

“Oh-chan!” I yell, as I advance on him with the box, “have you bought a new fridge or something?”

As soon as he sees the box, Satoshi jumps up, holding out his hands.

“Can I have it?”

“What did you order?” I ask curiously. “It's not new clothes, is it, I told you to run it by me before you chose any, remember?” He's nodding, why does he look so worried?

“C'mon, can I have it?” he repeats, then bites his lip when I look at him narrowly. Slowly, I hand it over, and he takes it quickly and begins to back away.

“Open it.”

“Huh?”

“Now,” I say, folding my arms, “open it.”

“Do I have to?” he asks, looking soulful. Ahh, yes, the pout is lovely, Satoshi, but it won't do you any good.

“Yes,” I snap, “right now. Otherwise I'll punish you, Oh-chan, and it won't be the fun kind, it'll be the boring balance-the-cheque-book kind.” He sighs, and kneels down in front of me, because he knows it's my favourite position. After a bit of a pause, he rips off the tape and labels from the top of the box and pulls it open, dumping out a flurry of packing foam. Then he pushes the box towards me, and just sits on his heels, watching me through lowered lashes.

I peer inside. Somehow, I'm not even surprised.

“Didn't I tell you?” I say, “not to?” He nods, but defiantly, and I sigh through my nose. “And you did anyway.” He nods again. I dip gingerly into the box, feeling slightly queasy, and pull up a whip thing between thumb and forefinger, and even with me holding it at arm's length like a dead mouse, Satoshi shivers. “Did you really think I would use this on you?” I ask incredulously. I delve around again, this is like some grotesque lucky dip, and catch something in a neat clear plastic bag, something small and metallic and complicated. “I don't even _know_ what the hell this is.”

Satoshi mumbles something about instructions, looking chastised. I drop the whatever-it-is back in and push the box away, pulling Satoshi towards me in the same movement. He flinches, but I just wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder.

“Oh-chan,” I sigh, and he nuzzles at my neck affectionately. “Does it have to be this?” I ask him, “isn't there something else we can do to make life more interesting?”

“Like what?” demands Satoshi, his interest piqued, long fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck.

“Like...something that doesn't involve torture, preferably.”

“Oh.”

“Correcting your behaviour, for a start,” I say severely, “at least at home.” Not that I actually think there's anything much wrong with Satoshi, apart from his chronic laziness and, of course, _this_ ; but I hear it's another game to play with submission (thank you Internet, O fount of all knowledge!), and right now I'll try anything.

“...Well, what does that involve?” asks Satoshi doubtfully, licking delicately at my earlobe. I wish he'd stop that, it's hard to have bright ideas when he's draped all over me. I push him back by the shoulders so he's kneeling straight again, seiza style.

“You can sit properly, for one,” I say, indicating his traditional position.

“It's uncomfy,” he grumbles, “it makes my legs go to sleep.”

“Well, once you practice it'll get better. And you could be more polite.”

“I could?”

“You could learn keigo. That'd be kind of hot.” Satoshi gives me a look.

“What, you want me to sit on the floor and call you _go-Shujin-sama_ like some Akihabara maid?” Was that a little try at sarcasm, there? I have a brief vision of Satoshi as a maid, and dismiss it before I get distracted.

“You could try,” I say hopefully, and he sniggers at me.

“It's kind of _cheesy_ , Nino.” Oh well, so much for that gem. “Anyway, I can already use keigo,” he informs me, and proceeds to spout out a stream of honorific verbs in a soft voice quite unlike his own.

“Where the hell did _that_ come from?!” That was unforeseeably sexy. He shrugs.

“Maoh.” Oh yes.

“Well, if you don't like it,” I tell him, “you'll just have to think of something else! Because _this_ ,” I say, picking up the box and getting to my feet, “is going in the deepest darkest cupboard until Aiba can find some lunatic to take it off my hands.” Satoshi opens his mouth, but I carry on. “You are not to touch it, you are not to talk about it. All right?” He pouts winningly. No, Satoshi, my distaste at this stuff far outweighs your eagerness to use it. I turn and walk into the little storage room beside the bathroom.

“Aren't you even going to punish me?” he calls, disappointed.

“Oh, yes,” I call over my shoulder. He looks at me acquiescently, hopefully. I grin.

“I'll be sleeping on the futon tonight.” This, I am well aware, is technically punishing myself as much as Satoshi, but it's worth it to see the amusingly stricken look on his round face.

And it means that night, while he's asleep, I'm able to creep over to this Pandora's box for a better look; I find myself weirdly drawn to it, in a car-crash kind of way, so I poke around in it silently for a while, pulling faces of disgust and looking things up on the Internet. Oh, _ugh_. I kind of wish I hadn't now. What are they talking about, welts, screaming, abrasions?! No. No, Satoshi, I can't. This is my sex life, not a Tarantino film!

I push the box to the back of the cupboard and shut the door, crawl back into my futon, and stare at the ceiling. I will not give in to this lunacy. I just won't!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter (finally) DOES contain descriptions of S&M, fully meriting its explicit rating. So if you know that sort of thing isn't for you, or if you think it will squick you out, please skip this chapter! Thanks ^^

Now that both of us are filming, and Satoshi is busy doing photoshoots and interviews and TV magazine specials, our window of free time per week is shrinking exponentially, and it's not until the first episode of Kaibutsu-kun actually airs that we manage to spend some time together which doesn't involve sleeping, shovelling down food, or having sex at a furious pace because one of us has to be somewhere in the next fifteen minutes. I think Satoshi was invited out, actually, for a group screening with some of his friends; but he declined, so he's staying in with me. I think he still has so little confidence in his own abilities that he'd rather see himself act in a comparatively private setting.

God, though, he looks cute in this show! Well, after he falls to earth and gets himself into those short pants and big ears, anyway. And that selfish, sulky little voice! That pout! It's all I can do not to molest him while we watch. All right, so it's not the most hard-hitting drama I've ever seen, but he just oozes charm.

“You were great,” I tell him, tightening my arms around his waist, after he's fielded a squealing phone call from his mother. He leans back comfortably in my lap, both of us on the floor, my back against the sofa.

“Was I actually?” he asks, and I think he genuinely can't tell, which is one of the endearing things about him.

“You were,” I assure him. “So, what's everyone like?”

“They're all just really nice,” he says contentedly. That's not very informative; Satoshi thinks most people are 'just really nice'.

“What about the wolf and the vampire?” I nip at Satoshi's neck lazily.

“Oh, they're funny! They help me a lot with my lines. And they're shorter than me.” Yes, to Satoshi and I, finding someone smaller than ourselves is always a source of satisfaction.

“How about the hot chick?”

“Totally hot.”

“And Matsuoka?” We all know him, of course, he being one of our respected senpai; but I don't remember him working with Satoshi before.

“We haven't done much together yet. But he likes me,” is Satoshi's evaluation; he tips his head back so I can kiss his throat, his hand coming up to tangle casually in my hair. “I think he thinks I'm an idiot, though.” No comment.

“You think he's cute?” I glide my fingers lightly over Satoshi's hips, to feel him shift against my crotch. Ooh, yes. Do that again.

“He's cute,” Satoshi confirms. “He spends most of the series without any clothes on.”

“Slut,” I tell him cheerfully, and he grinds deliberately against me, making me gasp.

“I am not.” This is a game we've taken to lately, because while neither of us are any good at talking dirty we can give it a damn good try, and it's easy to fit into a five minute break between jobs.

“No?” I bite at his ear and he sighs, letting my hands travel down his thighs without comment. “How about the big guy, then?” I probe, and he grins.

“He likes me,” he says with certainty. “When he looks down far enough to notice me, he thinks I'm great.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He thinks I'm hilarious,” says Satoshi happily, “and he lets me just talk and talk!” This, also, must be a novel experience.

“That's only because he can't understand Japanese,” I tell him, tapping out a little rhythm on his kneecaps.

“Oh, he can,” he counters, “if I speak slowly enough and don't talk about anything philosophical.”

“When do you ever?” I ask, amazed. Satoshi gives a kind of mini-pout, and wriggles slowly against me again, smirking. I pinch the back of his thighs in retaliation.

“He's _interesting_ ,” he informs me, lying back against me, his hair tickling my cheek. “He can pick me up with one hand.”

“I noticed.”

“His hands are, like, _twice_ as big as mine.”

“Well, that's a wrestler for you.”

“I wonder how big -”

“Oh-chan!” I howl, interrupting him with a hand across his mouth, “no, that is _wrong_!” I feel him smile under my palm. “ _You're_ wrong.” Satoshi just giggles, his lips vibrating against my fingers. “That would be...” My brain tries to imagine it, then quickly stops itself. “It'd be like a _freak show_ , Oh-chan.”

“I'd give it a go,” says Satoshi, jovially. I remove my hand from his mouth and push him off my lap, wrestling him to the ground, and he fights back, for a change, making it all the sweeter when I pin him, my legs straddling his hips.

“Pervert,” I tell him. “Deviant. Weirdo.”

“Brat,” he says, grinning sweetly up at me. These words have no effect at all on him.

“Slut.”

“Moron.”

“Pushy bottom.” As usual, our attempts at dirty talk have descended into a grade-school slanging match. I lean in and kiss him silent. It's still working: as long as I'm keeping him amused like this, Satoshi isn't thinking about that box in the store-cupboard, that ticking time-bomb that Aiba has refused to relieve me of. If contemplating the sexual appeal of members of our acquaintance is what it takes to distract him from the shadowy and unplumbed depths of his own desire – then long live casual polygamy!  
  
  


* * *

 

It's nearly midnight, and I'm deeply engaged in my snacks and gaming, waiting for Satoshi to get home, when I get a call from Aiba. Aiba is not my favourite person at the moment, it being mostly his fault this problem with my sex life has arisen in the first place, but I pick up anyway, in case he should happen to be calling with an abject apology.

“Hurry up, Aiba, I'm nearly at the end of the level.”

“Nino,” says Aiba solemnly, totally ignoring my implied command to _get off the phone_. “You'd better brace yourself.” What? What the hell does that mean? Don't just phone people up in the middle of important missions and spout drivel at them, Masaki!

“For what?” I ask drily.

“Me and my friend just dropped by Toma's,” he informs me.

“Oh! Was Oh-chan still there?”

“ _Yes_ ,” says Aiba, very seriously. Ok, I'm still bracing myself. What are you trying to tell me? That you stumbled in on Satoshi and Toma making mad passionate love across the dining table? Actually, wait. Back up. That could feasibly happen. Should I get worried?

“ _And what about it?_ ” I demand. Aiba sighs.

“Toma's been showing him Miike Takashi movies.”

“So wh -” Oh. Oh! _That_ Miike. Oh dear. “Which one?” I say, heavily.

“Audition.” Oh _dear_ oh dear. Ikuta Toma, you are next on my hit list.

“Is he still there?” I ask urgently. “Can't you get Toma to show him some Disney or something?!”

“No, he just left,” comes Aiba's voice, “I just put him in a taxi myself. He'll be with you in ten minutes.”

“Shit! Thanks a lot!” In the background I can hear Toma's bemused voice asking what the matter is. “Just tell him Oh-chan's so allergic to needles that even seeing them onscreen brings him out in a rash, or something,” I order Aiba.

“Roger that!” Masaki, you are an idiot. I snap my phone closed, and proceed to run round the apartment hiding anything that might remind Oh-chan of wanting to have sex tonight. Oh, me! What about me?! I quickly change into my oldest, most faded shorts and a tshirt out of the dirty laundry basket, and mess up my hair. There. I don't look sexy now, surely.

By the time I hear Satoshi's key in the lock I am well and truly braced. In he comes, and I pretend to be engrossed in the nearest magazine, which is unfortunately about fly fishing. I grunt at him, and wait to see if he jumps me with demands for acupuncture needles and piano wire. He looks at me for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he gives me a little wave, and smiles a little smile.

“Hi Nino, night, Nino,” he says mildly, and shuffles off to the bathroom. What's going on? He's leading up to another assault on my squeamishness, he must be. But no, he comes back out of the bathroom smelling of toothpaste, then disappears into the bedroom. I sit there for a while. I'm rather freaked out, actually. Or maybe...maybe he's finally accepted it, that he'll have to pack away these extreme cravings and be satisfied with what I can comfortably offer him.

“Oh-chan?” I slide beneath the covers, wrapping my arms around him from behind. He looks so peaceful, on the verge of sleep, his body warm and heavy. “Are you ok?” He smiles at me, and threads his fingers through mine serenely. I sleep more soundly than I have for days.  
  
  


* * *

 

We're up early the next morning, and I'm back to my good mood despite Aiba's scaremongering, because after work is done this morning I am taking Satoshi for a treat. Yes, I know this is not one of my most noted traits, but I've been planning this for a while, as a kind of well-done for how nicely his drama is going. We finish our final interview, and I tuck him into my passenger seat, driving him up to Ginza for lunch at a fancy ramen restaurant (you don't often hear those two words together, but still, it is). And I mean 3000 yen-a-bowl fancy. Satoshi slurps away ecstatically, beaming at me as I talk about the gallery I'm taking him to. I can't say I'm all that into fine art myself, actually, apart from Satoshi's bizarre creations; but this is the first day of a new, much-touted exhibition and I kind of know the artist. Even so, it was quite hard to get us in, and I know Satoshi will enjoy it, and I know Yamazaki-san will enjoy Satoshi once he gets talking.

Once we're past the door, I stick close to Satoshi's side, and not only in the hope he'll explain what the hell all this art is supposed to mean. It being the first day, there's a lot of champagne, and I know from previous experience that Satoshi's normal method around free wine is to quaff everything in sight and then pass out in the bathroom. But more than that, I want to be here with him. I know I can't introduce him as my lover; but it's almost as good that I can say he's my friend.

“Ah, there he is,” I say, nudging Satoshi as I spot Yamazaki-san in a corner, being bombarded by critics. “I was telling him about you, I think you'll really like him.” Satoshi nods, and I take his wine away from him, because he's giving me an odd look, which does not bode well.

“I'll just go to the bathroom,” he tells me, and good, he doesn't _sound_ drunk yet. I give him a little pat on the back and away he goes, so I wander over to Yamazaki-san, trying to think of something intelligent to say about sculpture.

“Ninomiya-kun,” he greets me, after I've hovered in his vicinity for a couple of minutes, waiting for him to be free, “glad you could make it. So, what do you think?”

“I, er, it's, er...” I begin, and he laughs.

“It's all right, you don't have to pretend just to please me.” I heave a sigh of relief.

“What's it about then?” I ask curiously. He shrugs.

“Buggered if I know.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “The art critics will invent some deep significance, so there's not much point me doing it too.” I grin. I like this guy. “So, did you bring your idol artist with you?” he asks, and I nod, craning my head for Satoshi over the crowd.

“I think he'd like to talk to you. He's kind of quiet, but...”

We stand there making small talk for a little while.

“I'm sure he'll be back in a minute,” I tell Yamazaki-san. Hurry up, Satoshi! Another minute and I'm starting to get worried, having visions of bathroom unconsciousness, quite apart from the fact that it's starting to look embarrassingly as if Satoshi is my imaginary friend.

“Ah, well,” says the artist eventually, giving me a quizzical look, “bring him over if he turns up.”

I say something, I don't remember what, because I am mortified; a thought has just struck me and it is not pleasant. I give Yamazaki-san a bow, then leave him and weave my way through the jostle of people. I step into the bathroom.

“Oh-chan!” I call softly. No answer. I call again. A guy comes out of one of the cubicles, eyeing me like I'm some weirdo who scouts for boys in public toilets. I wait a few more minutes, my fists clenched in my pockets, before I give up and give in to the realisation: Satoshi has _stood me up_. I make another quick circuit of the gallery, in case he's got caught up in a conversation with an art person; but no. He's gone.

I can feel a scowl gathering like a cloud over my face, as I stride out of the building and towards my car. I drive home carefully, deliberately, my lips pursed, holding back on my growing anger because I don't want to have a car crash to top off my day.

When I get back to his apartment, I jam my key in the lock and slam the door open. His shoes are there, which puts paid to the last feeble excuses for his behaviour, such as temporary amnesia or being carted off to hospital. I walk in, and he's right there, at the other end of the living-room, sitting in the fading afternoon light. I let out a shaky breath.

“ _Come here_.”

He gets to his feet, quite calmly, and pads towards me silently, until he comes to a halt three feet away. He looks at me, waiting, and it only makes me more angry. “Why,” I ask, striving to keep my voice low, “did you do that? Why did you make me look an idiot?” He shrugs, and I can see that he's trembling, very slightly, but he's hiding it well. I feel my jaw clench, because the sight is infuriating me, for some reason I can't work out.

“You shouldn't have done it,” I tell him softly. “It was not a nice thing to do.”

Satoshi raises his round chin, and if I've ever seen a challenge written on someone's face, this is surely it.

“Then make me sorry,” he says sweetly. A wave of heat rushes over me at his words, and I know exactly what we're both thinking of. I stare at him, and he looks me right in the eye, because he knows this is a contest between his will and my temper.

My temper is the first to break. He knew it would be, that's why he did this. I reach out, and pinch the soft skin of his elbow. He bites his lip, and nods.

“ _I will_ ,” I promise him.  
  


For a second Satoshi looks terrified. Then he smiles, and it's my turn to be scared, because his pretty face is so full of trust, and that's a huge weight to bear, especially when I'm so furious with him. But he's agreed to this, so I lift my hand and slap him lightly because he deserves it, still a _weird_ feeling even though it's allowed right now, and let my hand linger on his cheek.

“You're sure,” I ask again, and he nods without the slightest hesitation, so I lean forward and kiss him, cupping his face in both hands, trying to convey to him how angry and how scared I am in that one gesture. He kisses me back, harder and harder, and when I finally let him up for air he's breathless and smiling, his lips a deep pink with the rush of blood. I swallow heavily.

“ _Get the box_.”

Satoshi shudders at the words, then turns and walks silently off. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, trying to centre myself, and hurry into the bedroom, where I sit down on the bed and try not to hyperventilate. I hear the sounds of Satoshi rummaging in the cupboard, then in he comes, with the damn box, and puts it down carefully in front of me.

“Take your clothes off,” I snap, because I want him occupied with something else while I open this thing. It's still a distraction, watching his smooth skin appear out of the corner of my eye. I open the box, peer in, wince, then steel myself and tip the whole thing out on the floor. I kneel down in the middle of all this...stuff, and feel a ripple of mild nausea. And more than that, where do I even start? I recognise about half the things spread around me, and that's bad enough, but it's the weird objects I can't put a name or a use to that are freaking me out the most.

Satoshi, now naked and vulnerable and _beautiful_ , comes to kneel beside me, dropping a kiss to my shoulder soothingly. But this whole tryst is going to be so awkward, because how am I supposed to dominate him, or whatever it is he wants, when I don't know what anything's _for_?

“Which bit of you does this go on?” I ask doubtfully, gingerly holding up what looks like two big leather handcuffs attached to a metal bar, with regular-sized cuffs buckled underneath. Satoshi looks blank for a moment. _Neither_ of us know what we're doing, and it doesn't exactly make for a smooth flow. I look at it from a few angles, and then Satoshi nods, remembering. He turns away from me, arms folded behind his back, fingers of each hand touching the opposite elbow.

“Like this,” he tells me, twisting his head to look back at me encouragingly. Oh, I get it: big cuffs on his upper arms, bar spanning his back, little cuffs on his wrists.

“This is so – fiddly,” I complain, struggling with buckles, because my fingers are nervous and clumsy. Once it's on, though, I suppose it does look ok; it's not hurting him, anyway, just making him arch his back a little in a pleasing curve. Of course, this means he isn't going to be much use helping me. I kiss him softly on the back of the neck, his skin warm beneath my lips.

“What the hell is _this_ , then?” I say, once he's finished twisting to try and look down his own back, diving back into the pile and emerging with a contraption of metal bars and screws, that's wider than my hand-span and looks _awful_. “I'm not doing anything to you with this!”

“No,” says Satoshi, shaking his head, “that clamps on to the top of a door-frame, I think.”

“Er...what for?”

“You can attach a hook to it, and then you can put me in that thing _there_ ,” he points with his head, “and it'll support me so I don't have to be holding myself up all the time.”

“This thing?” I say.

“No, that one.”

“This?”

“Yeah.” Hm. This one has a diagram, and I see immediately what he means. Well, that looks fairly...not innocuous, obviously, but at least it doesn't look painful.

“You want me to put this up right now?” I sigh. Satoshi just shrugs, and looks at me hopefully. I read over the instructions, then get up and blunder off to fetch a chair from the other room. I clamber up with the metal whatever-it-is, and try to figure out how to clamp it to the door-frame between the bedroom and the living-room. I turn it round a few times, then see how it's done.

“Are you all right?” asks Satoshi anxiously from his place of safety on the carpet.

“Ai ink ai ee ow it'f un,” I inform him, my mouth full of the big, blunt screws that secure it to the wood. “But really, Oh-chan,” I say five minutes later, when I'm attaching the hook and the rope that ties onto the sling thing, “is this honestly what you find sexy? It's like...fucking...putting up shelves!” He doesn't deign that with an answer.

“Get over here, then,” I say shortly, because I'm out of breath already and I haven't even taken any clothes off yet. Satoshi kneels up, a bit wobbly because he can't use his arms for balance, and crawls awkwardly over to me. After a bit of fiddling and a lot of swearing, I've buckled the wide straps of the support around him, one just below his shoulders and the other across his ribcage, over his bound arms to render them even more helpless. These...now where do these go? Oh, they attach to the rope, which is already running through the hook at the top of the door-frame. I pull it tight, and tie it off so he's on his knees, his torso hanging in mid-air parallel to the ground.

“Do a bowline,” suggests Satoshi, when I'm trying to figure out what knot to use. Might as well be speaking Chinese for all the sense that makes. I ignore him and tie my usual messy knot, then root around in Satoshi's art box to find his big scissors, just in case anything goes wrong and I can't untie it. Huh. That actually looks quite comfortable.

“Guess...you're on your own now,” says Satoshi, now that he's thoroughly immobilised. He lets his head hang down and hums a bit to himself; he seems quite unflustered, whereas the prospect is worrying me considerably. I return to the pile, giving him a firm smack on the behind en route, to transfer some of the discomfort to him, but of course he just lets out a delighted little gasp.

I dig through Satoshi's collection again. What is with all the poles he's ordered? I'm not trying to erect a tent. I throw a glance over at Satoshi, or at least at his rear, which is splendidly on show right now; I've found more big cuffs attached to bars, and even I can guess what they're for. Yes, I can do this by myself, I don't need my punish-ee's help! I run my fingers down the back of his thigh to reassure him, not that he needs it, and fasten the buckles around his slim legs just above the knee joint, nudging them further apart to accommodate the bar that will keep them spread. Ohh, Satoshi, you look so pretty...and filthy.

“You doing ok there, Oh-chan?” I check.

“Mmm,” he says, dreamily, and I lean down and drop a rain of kisses from his shoulder-blades, across his bound arms, down to the base of his spine. He takes a heavy breath. Well. I've pretty much ensured he isn't going anywhere I don't want him to, so I return yet again to the pile. So far it's been very much like building a swing-set or something of the sort, though of course most garden furniture doesn't include the erotic delights of a naked Satoshi as an integral part of the structure. But now I'm down to the smaller stuff, and as I begin to root through it and look at the instruction sheets my heart sinks, because this is the main course, this is the stuff that will actually _hurt_ him. Whips, paddle things, clamps, little tweezery bits that just look like hell on earth, something that looks like a pizza cutter but with little spikes – where do I even start? _Can_ I start?

Eventually I pluck up my courage and grab a whip type thing with several long strands – they're soft, they feel like suede – and crawl back over to Satoshi, putting it down in front of him so he can see it. His eyes widen, but I leave it there and kneel behind him to administer some more slaps to his perfect ass, the way he likes it, sharp and stinging and drawing little yelps of appreciation from him. Now this, this I can do; this I _like_. But once his skin is pink and tingling beneath my hand, I concede reluctantly that that's probably enough warming up.

I pick up the whip, and Satoshi chokes in a breath. I lift his chin, and kiss him softly, making him look at me and not it.

“You don't have to do this,” I tell him earnestly. “Just say the word, and I'll stop, we can forget all about today, ok?” Satoshi purses his lips, shakes his head. I sigh. Well, I'm starting with the mildest-looking of these things. I should be all right.

I take up my place behind him, hefting the whip, checking its weight, letting it whistle through the air a couple of times to see how hard it is to control. Seems ok, though Satoshi is flinching at each sound. I pat him lightly on the hip, which is quivering, with my hand. Then I bite my lip, take aim, and bring the suede strands down with a dull crack on his behind.

Satoshi screams, no whimpering or moaning, full-on _screams_. I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound, which I've never heard before, not in earnest. I drop everything and take him by the shoulders, shaking him until he looks at me, eyes wide.

“Are you ok, Oh-chan, tell me you're ok!” He lets out a shuddering sigh, and focuses.

“ _Don't stop_ ,” he whispers shakily, and I stare at him like he's from another planet.

“What?”

“ _Please_ , Nino,” he begs, “don't stop...” He's crazy. He's absolutely nuts, but I recognise the plain, unadorned arousal in his dark eyes, the flush on his round face. I grit my teeth. Fine, but I'm not going to have him yelling like that again, my nerves can't take it, not to mention the fact that I'd rather not be branded a homicidal maniac by the people next door. I don't think the walls are particularly thin – I've never heard Satoshi's neighbours – but then again, I don't suppose his neighbours are thrashing their boyfriends to screaming point on a regular basis, so it's hard to tell. But better safe than sorry.

I crouch there for a second, stroking his hair comfortingly, then zip to the bathroom and retrieve a clean tea towel from the cupboard – my hands are shaking like fuck – and return as fast as I can, because I don't want to leave him alone like this, not even for one second.

“I'll keep going, Oh-chan,” I tell him, to assuage the pleading look he's giving me, “but you can't be so loud.”

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Don't be an idiot. I'll keep asking you, so if you want me to stop, just nod.” I hold out the towel, and he bites down on it obediently. I pull it taut and fasten it behind his head. “Ok, now, Oh-chan,” I tell him, “scream to your heart's content.” I can't believe I just said that. I can't believe I'm doing this. I take the whip again, warily, and smack it lightly over my arm. Ow, fucking hell! No wonder he was yelling! How can this be fun for _anyone_?

I have no idea, but it certainly is for him, as he proves amply when I begin to hit him again, gentle and nervous at first, then gradually harder, then varying the pattern of the blows over his ass and thighs, he's writhing beneath each hit, crying out into the fabric of the rudimentary gag, and when I pause to run my hands over his burning skin, I realise he's hard already; and that, in a weird way, is fantastically sexy. I ask him, over and over, if he wants to stop, and each time he shakes his head, frantically, making little muffled noises of encouragement. He's all right. He's really all right.

After a little while I suppose I should pay attention to another part of his body, though it's fairly clear where most of my interest lies at the moment. I grab a handful from the pile and scooch round to the front, sitting cross-legged before him. I check his gag isn't too tight, then kiss his forehead and stroke his hair.

“That's my good Oh-chan,” I tell him, and he leans into my lips. “Are you sorry for what you did yet?” He looks me right in the eye and shakes his head, so I fist my hand in his chestnut hair and give it a pull, because I really like doing it, and I should be getting some fun out of this too, right? “Ok,” I say, trying to sound authoritative, “What shall I do to you next? Take your pick.” I hold each implement up before his face, surreptitiously peering at the instruction sheets on the back of the packets. Wait a minute, he bought them, he must want them all, so why should I let him choose?! I can at least feign the impression that I'm the one in charge here.

“Well, since you can't tell me,” I say generously, “I'll pick for you.” I grab the packet of weird little fiddly metallic things, what the hell _are_ these, anyway? Oh. Don't see what purpose that serves, but we'll give it a go. I lean in to kiss his neck, and run my hands teasingly down his chest; his skin is slippery with sweat, his small nipples already hard beneath my touch; I play with them for a minute, pinching them, rolling them between my fingers, and he moans softly into the towel.

“Nice?” I ask, my cheek pressed against his. He nods heavily. Ok. I take the two little devices, or whatever they're called, and peer down at the underside of his body, noticing with pleasure that he still has a hard-on, so he must be fairly happy. I take one of the clips, two flat plates of metal that pinch either side of his nipple and then screw down tight; when he feels the cold metal touch him he gasps and flinches away for a second, then lies quiet in his restraints while I fiddle with him. I was hoping I could do this without looking like a mechanic lying under a car, but it's hard to get a grip on his sweat-damp skin, so I manoeuvre myself ungracefully beneath him and lie on my back, and ah, that's easier.

He whimpers and wriggles a little as I screw each clamp closed, tighter and tighter, this isn't so bad, it's just what I'd normally subject him to with my fingers or my teeth, but for longer. I take another look at the instructions: do not leave on for more than fifteen minutes due to loss of blood flow. Ow, ow. I sit back up, peeling off my shirt and tie because the effort involved in this is making me hot, and peer at Satoshi's face. He's wearing a pained, slightly dreamy expression, lashes dropping over his eyes, his breathing fast and light. I give one of the clamps an experimental tug; it doesn't come off, but Satoshi moans and arches his back.

“You still ok?” I ask him, lifting his chin. He nods again. Right. What shall I do with him for fifteen minutes? I spend a little while kissing him while I make up my mind, gliding my fingers across his heated skin, occasionally flicking at his nipples to see him writhe, that looks so pretty. I move down to his hard-on, stroking him teasingly; I like that he couldn't close his legs even if he tried, but if I touch him too much he might come already, and I wouldn't want that.

Oh well, back to his butt. What a chore. I run my hands over its perfect curves; that fierce heat has begun to dissipate, although it's still marked with scarlet bands where each blow fell. Satoshi twitches beneath my touch. I turn from him to rummage through the arsenal; I think I've learnt my lesson that _whips are fucking scary_ , so this time I choose one of the wide paddle things with slats in it which looks like a heavy, glorified spatula.

“Oh-chan,” I tell him, because I don't want any more unpleasant surprises, “I'm going to beat you again. Shake your head if you don't want it.” No movement. Well, that takes care of that. This time I cautiously try out the paddle on my thigh and proceed to hop around swearing; ow, just _ow_! I'll start gently and see how we do. For the first couple of blows Satoshi just makes surprised little noises as the heavy leather connects with his already abused flesh; so I take a harder swing at him, the sound of the impact ridiculously loud, and this time he throws his head back and screams into the gag. I don't think I will ever get used to this.

“Nod if you want to stop,” I tell him again, pinching him to make sure he's listening. He shakes his head eventually, and I purse my lips and begin again, letting the blows fall hard and fast over his ass and his thighs, and he's still letting out muffled cries that sink softly as he begins to tire out. I guess I can get used to anything, after all, even something so fundamentally _wrong_ as this, because his little noises are beginning to excite me, too, so I keep on until my arm wears out and he's hanging limp and trembling in his bonds.

“Oh-chan,” I murmur breathlessly, dropping to sit beside him again. His shoulders are shaking, and when I look at him I see he's crying, tears rolling from beneath his closed lids and splashing onto my hand. “Oh-chan,” I say pleadingly, stroking back his damp hair comfortingly, “please tell me you've had enough.” He doesn't reply, doesn't even look at me, just keeps crying, and I don't know what it means because he's still hard and I can't reconcile one behaviour with the other, and I'm getting scared again. I reach beneath him and quickly unscrew the metal clips, tugging them off each nipple, and then his eyes fly open and he groans into the gag as the blood rushes back.

I swiftly untie the towel, slipping it gently from his mouth, and lift his chin; he's looking at me with those damp, shining eyes but I don't know if he can even _see_ me.

“Oh-chan,” I say again, and then louder, “please talk to me!” He looks like he's somewhere else completely. “Come on, Oh-chan,” I beg, holding his face in both hands, “wake up, _please_ , I _love you_ , Oh-chan, tell me you're ok!”

A blink, slow and confused, and then his dark eyes focus on my face.

“...I'm ok, Nino,” he says, even though he's still crying, his voice ragged from screaming, and it sounds as if his words have had to come from a long way off, as if he's in some other place and can't work out why I'm so worried.

“Thank god for that.” I press my forehead against his, cradling his head in my arms.

“Nino,” he says, and I don't think I've ever heard his soft voice so full of desire, even in the middle of tears. “ _Please_.”

“Please what?” I ask, and he leans up to kiss me hard on the mouth.

“Please fuck me!” he whispers against my lips, and the heat of his mouth and wicked brushes of his tongue are teasing me back to excitement despite myself.

“Are you sorry?” I ask, even though I've almost forgotten what pushed me to this in the first place. He nods frantically, kissing me again, fast and deep. “Well...all right then.” I get up and stumble clumsily out of my clothes, reaching for the lube and condoms, and I smother a sigh of relief that I'm finally back in my comfort zone. I reflect on this as I touch his hard-on teasingly, getting him ready so that he'll enjoy my fingers when I'm preparing him; what would I have thought, when we began this whole thing, if I'd known that three months later I would consider fucking a tied-up Ohno Satoshi as within my comfort zone? I shake my head. It would have been unthinkable, and I'm not too sure it isn't still.

“Nino, please... _hurry_ ,” he whispers, as I move my slippery fingers leisurely in and out of his body, but I don't, because as far as I'm concerned this is just as much torture as whipping him, but without my own personal cringe factor and a lot more fun. I rest my free hand on his ass, and the heat his skin gives off is still astonishing. Eventually I'm too turned on myself to wait any longer, so I quickly slide a condom on and push my way into him, no inch by inch timidity like the first time but confidently in one movement, sure that I won't hurt him with this because our bodies have been in tune in this respect for a long time now.

“Nngh!” Satoshi gives a moan of appreciation as I begin to move, slowly again because I know it drives him nuts; he looks back at me desperately and I can see the tears are still falling, but he smiles, letting out a pleasurable cry as I find the spot that makes him go crazy. His body swings lightly back and forward with each thrust, and I never thought I'd be making love to anyone suspended from my ceiling. Then again, I never thought I'd be fucking someone who's crying at the time (at least, I've always hoped they wouldn't be), but today does seem to be a day for breakthrough moments.

“Tell me what you want, Oh-chan,” I order him unsteadily, because I want to make sure he's still with me and not slipping into that weird headspace again.

“...Faster,” he replies instantly, that's always what he wants, so I give in and speed up, gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, and he looks, sounds, _is_ so perfect that with a few more thrusts I climax, sinking my short nails into his little ass to hear him moan with me. I lean forward and kiss him, the nape of his neck, his shoulders, his poor arms, and slowly pull out of him, loving the noise he makes then, too.

“Nino,” he says pitifully, “what about me?”

“What _about_ you?” I ask, panting, though I know perfectly well; Satoshi has always taken longer to come than me.

“You have...to let me come!”

“Well, you behaved _very_ badly,” I say consideringly, stroking his cock lightly, teasingly and then moving away. I don't know why he gets this upset, he knows I always let him eventually.

“But...you punished me,” he whispers pathetically.

“Yeah, but you _liked_ it,” I remind him. “So it wasn't much of a punishment.” I kneel at his side and stick one knee out, supporting his chest as he hangs there, and struggle with the knot that's holding his upper body suspended from the door-frame. He's right, I really should learn how to tie properly. Eventually I get it undone, and he collapses into my arms. I remove the thick straps of the sling, but leave his arms braced behind his back and his legs held open, easing him down to lie face up on the carpet. He squirms, trying to keep his poor abused rear off the floor; I kneel over him, looking at that beautiful face, he looks like he's going to come undone if I leave him like this.

“If you want me to get you off,” I murmur, pressing light kisses to his lips, his neck, “then keep still.” Oh, _this_ is what I really enjoy, frustrating him, making him writhe beneath me. I push down on his stomach and he lets out a little sob as his ass makes contact with the carpet. Moving backwards, I kiss my way over his narrow chest, flicking my tongue across his sensitive nipples and down his flat stomach; pinning him down with my legs, I press my lips against the soft skin of his hips, his thighs, and finally take him into my mouth. I know full well I'm not as good at this as Satoshi, but for him I'm willing to try; he can't control what I'm doing at all, so I go at my own leisurely pace, but even so it's only a matter of minutes before he comes, I wouldn't do this for anyone else in the world, but I'll swallow for Satoshi because just the _thought_ of it is orgasmically sexy.

“Good boy, Oh-chan,” I tell him hoarsely, rolling him over to remove the last of his restraints. His arms fall to his sides weakly, red marks on his wrists and legs where the leather has bitten into them, but nothing that won't have vanished by morning. His ass and thighs are another matter, and I know that if Jun could see our Leader now he would kill me, literally kill me. Satoshi lies there, very quietly. I wonder what he's feeling at this moment, now that he's finally been given everything he's been asking for.

“How was it?” I ask, and he doesn't answer me at all, just turns on his side and holds out his shaky arms helplessly. I fold him in my embrace, and he's crying silently again, I can feel it, hot and damp against my neck as he buries his face in my shoulder and clings to me as if he never wants to let go. After a while his breathing evens out; but then he begins to shiver, lightly. I prise myself out of his arms and turn up the heating, grabbing a blanket from the bed to wrap him in; he still doesn't speak, so I pick him up carefully and carry him through to the living-room, lying him face-down on the sofa and resting his head in my lap. And still, all I can get out of him is a quiet “hold me.”

We sit there for a long time, and I stroke his hair softly, as if he were a cat or a little kid. I don't think it's that he doesn't want to talk about it; maybe it's just that he knows he can't find words that I'd understand. Some time later I leave him for a minute to make some tea and bring him some cookies, because I always read you should have hot drinks and sugary stuff for shock, and I'm not sure that this isn't the same kind of state.

Even later, I put him in the bath, and gingerly sponge him off. At this point he begins to look more awake, gazing at me beatifically over the edge of the tub, his chin resting on his folded arms.

“Thanks, Nino,” he murmurs, reaching out to take me by the wrist, holding me close to him. “For saying what you did.”

“Eh?” I'm not sure what he's referring to, because Satoshi thinks very little of having a conversation that only becomes vocal somewhere in the middle. He gives an anxious little frown, as though he's worried he misheard.

“When I was crying,” he says softly, unsure. “...You said that you loved me.”

I did? I did! I must have been terrified.

“Would you _want_ me to say it?” I ask guardedly, in case this is a complaint.

“I've waited for you to say it a long time,” he says, and ducks his head shyly, and even after every sick thing we've just done he _blushes_.

“Well, it's true,” I tell him, and his face splits in that incandescent smile, nose scrunching up, eyes disappearing.

“Thank you,” he whispers back, and I hide how fucking _happy_ I suddenly am, even if I said it unintentionally, just kissing him to let him know and resuming washing him, giving his backside special attention to make him howl and then patting him dry tenderly.

We lie in bed, afterwards. Well, Satoshi lies _on_ the bed, face-down, with the heating turned right up, because he can't bear to have the sheets touching his rear. It's coming up quite spectacularly, scarlet and purple bruises that make me feel sick and delighted just looking at them. I'm just dropping into sleep when I feel Satoshi's lips against my cheek, lightly, so as not to wake me.

“I love you. I love you, Nino.” He whispers it joyfully, over and over again, and I lie still and feign sleep because although he's said those words a thousand times in the last ten years, it's suddenly the sweetest sound I've ever heard.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shortish chapter this time. Nino and Ohno enjoy a little more kinky smut, and Matsujun has a melodramatic hissy fit.

I don't remember exactly when I started hating the sound of the telephone. It's never been my favourite noise, usually signalling that someone wants me to stop what I'm doing and start doing something less fun. But, on balance, probably about five seconds ago, when the old-fashioned ring tone of Satoshi's phone began to blare out, right as I was about to come and totally putting me off. Bastard, bastard technology! I gently pull away from Satoshi, who gives a moan of utter frustration, and stomp about the room to locate where it's coming from.

Satoshi watches me upside-down as I storm around.

“Just _leave it_ ,” he begs hoarsely, twisting awkwardly so his eyes can follow me round the room, but he can't realistically do anything about it. Currently, on this mild afternoon, Satoshi is spread on his back on the living-room coffee table, totally naked and tied down by his arms and legs, his head hanging backwards over the edge, from whence he had been giving me the world's most spectacular inverted blow job that would put a porn star to shame. And now this ungodly interruption! As he says, I could leave it, but we only have three hours off and he promised he'd be reachable if he had to come back to work sooner.

“I can't,” I tell him as I finally locate his cell phone behind the sofa cushions, and flip it open to see who's calling. “It's Jun.” Satoshi stops looking woeful and starts looking nervous. “You have to talk to him, Oh-chan,” I tell him firmly, “you know what he's like.” Satoshi presses his friction-reddened lips together, and nods resignedly, because the phone is still ringing and ringing.

Just as Satoshi and I have begun to get a little bit used to his box of painful fetish paraphernalia, so Jun's suspicions have started to grow again. Not that it's _my_ fault, I should point out. It's partly Aiba's (when is it not?), he having finally gone too far with pranking Jun when he froze mentos into ice cubes and dropped them in Jun's invariable Pepsi Nex, the resulting explosion covering Jun, the green room sofa, and a passing makeup girl. Jun, after he threatened Aiba with decapitation if he _ever_ did _anything_ to him _ever_ again, has therefore had nothing else to occupy him and is beginning to watch Satoshi carefully. The other day he spotted a large bruise on his arm, which was, ironically, nothing to do with our bedroom activities but due to Satoshi falling out of his parents' ground floor window while attempting to help his mother spring-clean; but since then, Jun has been calling to check on him at fairly regular intervals.

I hold the phone to his upside-down ear and press the Connect button.

“Jun-kun,” says Satoshi, trying to hide how annoyed he is as well as the little whines of arousal that keep threatening to spill from his lips, “what is it? I'm about to…have lunch.” Jun says something, and Satoshi sighs. “Soba.”

I kneel down by Satoshi's head and try to relax, because obviously Jun won't be hanging up until he knows every last detail of his whereabouts, companions and lunch menu. I let my eyes drift over Satoshi's prone body, and it is a lovely sight: tied securely over the table, back arched, lines and swirls of red wax trailing over his chest, his nipples, down, down across his flat stomach and slender spread legs. He's still hard, even though I'm not touching him, even though Jun is now apparently questioning him about vegetable preparation, which I put down partly to the exciting risk of the situation right now, and partly to the slim, vibrating object pushed deep inside him that's making him writhe helplessly against the hard glass top of the table.

The whole sex toys thing is still a bit of a squick for me, actually, partly because they look so _weird_ and unnatural, like little aliens (ok, so I have an over-active imagination), and it puts me off. Also, I don't think I have anything to complain about in the size department (as many cheerful comparisons in our adolescent years prove), but some of these things are _ridiculous_ , it gives me an inferiority complex just looking at them. Although really it's the smaller, wickedly vibrating models that make Satoshi come undone and burst into tears, begging for release, far more than the larger conventional ones.

Still, my squeamishness doesn't seem to bother Satoshi on this point, as on any other, and he likes them very much, though it took him a while to get used to the feeling of having something that's not _me_ inside him, and he sometimes goes all distant and spacey if I push them too deep. It should be all right, I know, having been using the good old Internet assiduously these last couple of weeks, learning the proper way to wield all this stuff he's bought and which still gives me the shivers to dwell on. The more I learn, the more I can't believe how stupid and blind lucky we were the first time, and that he didn't come to serious harm by my total ignorance of how to play safely with him. But I'm getting there, and knowing that there are rules to these things makes me feel better, somehow, less like I'm doing something appallingly barbaric every time I crack a flogger across his upper back or run the little silver pinwheel (well, it will always be 'the pizza cutter' to me) down the soft skin of his thighs or the ultra-sensitive arches of his feet.

“Nino,” comes Satoshi's voice, cutting in on my thoughts, “Nino, he's gone.” He tilts his head to kiss my fingers, and I snap the phone closed and toss it aside, bending down to give him a quick Spiderman kiss and pinch at his right nipple, hardened wax cooling beneath my hand. He whimpers deliciously.

“He said...we should meet Aoki-san in an hour,” he tells me ruefully, letting his head flop back. I grasp his chin and gently force him to open his mouth, because dammit, I am going to get off this afternoon, and not even Jun is going to stop me. He parts his lips and takes me in as if I, Ninomiya Kazunari, am the tastiest thing he's ever been treated to. I swallow.

“You'd better get a move on, then.” Satoshi gives an agreeable moan, happily muffled by my cock as I start to move deeper, slowly, carefully, because this bizarre upside-down position is actually the best way to get right inside him without giving him a sore throat or hurting him. Like this, Satoshi is incredible, there's no other word for him, and I grit my teeth to hold out longer, hitting the switch on the little remote attached by a cord to the toy in his ass. He makes a noise of shock as the speed changes, the muscles of his mouth going taut and tight around me; ok, I formally take back anything bad I said about technology – it's fucking fantastic.

“Mmf!” Satoshi's arms are straining against the ropes holding him as he tries in vain to touch himself, his little noises are reverberating in his throat, but I hold out as long as I possibly can and for once he actually comes before me, his entire body rigid and quivering before he relaxes against the table. Unfortunately my stamina level is still not spectacular, and I soon follow him, pulling out a little way to come just in his mouth, because I like to see him swallow, watch the muscles move in his elegant throat.

“Come on,” I groan, after we've both lain there for a while, my torso draped across his stomach. I untie him swiftly, give him a kiss and a quick cuddle. “In the shower, I'll clean you up. Then lunch, Aoki-san, photoshoot.”

“Can't we just stay here?” Satoshi complains, languidly, rolling off the low table to sprawl bonelessly on the carpet. “You could do me again...”

I smack him lightly around the back of the head.

“Work comes first,” I state primly, wishing it didn't. One day, Satoshi and I, we've _got_ to get to that desert island.  
  
  


* * *

 

About a week after this I'm peacefully drying my hair after dance practice, basking in the thought of my prospective dinner and a quick gaming session, when I hear a confused bellowing from the adjacent shower stalls which coalesces into Jun's voice, though I can't hear a word he's saying because of the echo and the sound of running water. I wonder if Aiba has switched his shampoo for cooking oil again; I nudge him, about to make some joke about a death wish, and at that moment I hear the soft reverberation of Satoshi's voice as well. Aiba looks at me, wide-eyed, not a trace of a practical joke on his face; I gulp. Fuck. This does not bode well.

“Get in here!” I hear Jun yell, suddenly clear, and then he appears, towel around his waist, dragging a dripping and also be-towelled Satoshi by the upper arm.

“Jun, what the hell!” exclaims Sho from the corner, where he's been counting through the dance steps. “Leave him alone!”

“ _Look_ ,” says Jun, venomously, “ _all_ of you!” Satoshi tries to brush him off, but Jun twists him round so his back is to us, holding both his wrists tightly. I hear Sho's shocked intake of breath at almost the same moment as Aiba's (which is fake, but it doesn't sound it): Satoshi's back is a network of red stripes, almost glowing after the hot water of the shower. They're days old, I happen to know, and already fading to light bruises, but now they stand out as if I'd laid them there freshly. Pretty pretty pretty. But to everyone else in the room (excepting Aiba, maybe), they must look like the marks of torture.

“I _knew_ it,” Jun growls. He shakes Satoshi, physically shakes him, and if I were pressed I'd say that Jun's concern is a lot scarier than any cruelty I could invent. I have never seen Jun this angry. “I knew someone was hurting you, Leader!” He turns to address us. “I went into his cubicle to borrow his conditioner, and I fucking see _this_.” Satoshi doesn't say anything, just stands meekly before our stares, head bent. What the hell should I say? What should I do? I want to grab him, pull him away and into my arms, but I can't, I'm frozen.

“Jun-kun,” says Aiba, severely, and we all turn to look at him. He looks serious but not at all flustered, unlike Jun, who is bright red and breathing fast. “Let Leader sit down. Now.” Jun gives him an incredulous glare, because who would expect Aiba to be the voice of reason? Then he lets Satoshi go. Aiba steps up, guides Satoshi into a chair, and I see him give him a surreptitious little reassuring pat. _Thank you_ , Masaki. I breathe a little, having forgotten to for the last thirty seconds.

“Now let him talk,” Aiba tells all of us. “Jun. Sit down.”

“It's nothing,” says Satoshi in a tiny voice, and I can tell he wants desperately to meet my eyes, wants to know what he should say. Jun gives a disbelieving hiss; Aiba throws me a quick eye-roll, and Sho just looks lost, as though he's come in halfway through a film and has missed a crucial plot point.

“Why can't you tell us, Leader?” asks Jun, softly now, and Satoshi squeezes his eyes shut. “Who's doing this to you? Do you owe people money? Is someone in your family in trouble?” I realise, then, just how impossible it would be for Jun to even imagine another reason why someone might want to hurt our Leader. I know he doesn't look like the youngest of us (that seems to fall to me), but he might still be the most innocent, DoS status or not. Satoshi obviously doesn't know what to say, what could possibly appease him, and I can see that Jun is on the edge of losing it again.

How are we going to get out of this?! We should have been more careful; I thought we _had_ been careful. No-one in Japan could possibly have a more tightly regulated sex life than Satoshi and I; everything has to fit around our work schedule, our obligatory social schedule too. Being idols, we're not only constantly mediated but constantly active as well, so we have to organise our bedroom activities to ensure that Satoshi isn't limping when he needs to dance the next day, that he doesn't have marks on his arms or legs when he might be wearing short sleeves, that he gets the most private space when we're getting changed. I thought we had done well; even Aiba couldn't work out whether we were playing with Satoshi's toys or not, until Satoshi shyly took him into his confidence. And now _this_ , a stupid run-of-the-mill mistake.

“If Oh-chan doesn't want to talk about it,” I try, “don't you think we should respect that?” Jun looks at me like I have two heads.

“Fuck, Nino! Are you his friend or not?! I thought you'd be the first on my side!”

“I am _here_ , you know,” says Satoshi in a small voice, but Jun doesn't even notice. He shakes his head vehemently.

“No. I let it go last time, and turns out that was a mistake, doesn't it! But not this, Leader, not this. If you can't tell me, I have to tell Aoki-san.”

“No!” begs Satoshi, suddenly animated at the threat, “ _please_ , Jun-kun, please don't tell anyone, I can explain, I _promise_ , just don't let Aoki-san know!”

“Well?”

Satoshi just sits there for a moment, looking like a little drowned puppy, and I don't care what Jun thinks, I go over and sit beside him and hold his hand, because isn't that what I'd have done in the past if something unthinkable like this had arisen? His fingers cling to mine gratefully. He blinks, trying to fit a story together.

“...My girlfriend,” he says eventually. Jun and Sho look taken aback.

“Since when have you had a girlfriend?!” demands Jun, as if this is some new ruse to keep him from finding out about the debt collection or freaky yakuza mob ties or whatever it is he thinks Satoshi is mixed up in.

“Since the beginning of the year,” says Satoshi, looking more sure of himself. “Why are you surprised? I do have a sex life, Jun-kun.” Jun looks ambivalent at this, as though he was aware of the fact in theory but doesn't like to think about it too hard.

“Are you telling me a _girl_ did this to you?” he asks incredulously. Satoshi gives an embarrassed little laugh, and I'm proud of him, this might just be the best lie, well, half-lie, he's ever told.

“She's a bit older than me,” Satoshi informs us, “and she's...kind of a tiger.”

“Cougar,” corrects Aiba, _sotto voce_. Satoshi carries on.

“And sometimes we...you know...we like to play games.” From his corner, Sho looks mortified; I don't think he ever wanted to hear about any of our sex habits in any remote detail. Poor Sho.

“Games,” says Jun flatly. “You call this _games_?!”

“Well, she likes it,” mumbles Satoshi, doing a very convincing impression of embarrassment. “And we only do it on special occasions. It's not nearly as bad as it looks.”

“Oh, that makes it _fine_ , then!” exclaims Jun, and, “I _knew_ we shouldn't have let you live on your own,” and proceeds to swear at Satoshi for several minutes in a colourful and creative way, for being so _stupid_ , for getting involved with someone so awful, nay, _unhinged_ , for not speaking up sooner so he could have the benefit of our sage advice. Satoshi hangs his head and nods along to this tirade, still holding onto my hand for dear life, because even in full protective mode Jun is rather terrifying.

“Do you love her?” asks Sho, interrupting finally, looking bemused and anxious.

“...I don't think so,” says Satoshi thoughtfully, and squeezes my hand to let me know it's a lie. “She's just fun.”

“Then split up with her!” snaps Jun. “There are thousands of women out there who could make you happy, Leader, and you pick the one who just wants to hurt you!” He leans forward to hammer his point home. “ _Find someone else_.” Satoshi looks sulky, but eventually nods under Jun and Sho's pleading stares.

“...All right. I'll think about it.”

“I'll be watching you, Leader,” Jun warns him. “So make sure you do. Because the next time I see you injured like this, it won't be Aoki-san I go to, it'll be the _police_.” He grabs his clothes, gives Satoshi one last appalled glare, and storms out. Sho heaves a massive sigh.

“Don't worry, I'll go find him.” He slips out of the door after Jun, and I can hear him calling down the hall for him.

As soon as the door closes, Satoshi turns and throws his arms around me, and I wrap my own carefully round his back. Aiba blows out a huge breath.

“Talk about your melodrama,” he says, and Satoshi gives a little laugh that's bordering on hysteria if I'm any judge. I hold him a little tighter.

“I think,” I tell Aiba, “that we need to find something else to play with for a while. Something that doesn't leave any marks.” I can't imagine, now, going back to a time when Satoshi and I weren't lovers, and lovers in this particular way that Jun finds so repulsive. If only he knew the half of it! I suppose we should count ourselves lucky.

Aiba nods thoughtfully.

“I'll ask around.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, cradling Satoshi to me. There must be a way to keep everyone in Arashi happy. Because I've got the taste now; and I can't stop.


	12. Chapter 12

As you may imagine, Satoshi is feeling a little nervous these days, after Jun's spectacular outburst in the changing room, and I while won't say it's _hurt_ our sex life (no irony intended), it has, for a while at least, made it rather less exciting.

Bloody Jun. I know it's not his fault, I know he just cares about Satoshi's safety, but still! Satoshi is so thrown off-balance for the first couple of days that I send him back to his family, and his mother's cooking and his old bed seem to do the trick a bit. When he comes back we make love, just he and I, gently, nothing between us but skin, and I forgot how much I love doing it _au naturel_ , as it were. Occasionally we use the odd sex toy (yes, I still think they're odd), but nothing more, because Satoshi (who has split up with his fictitious girlfriend) is now terrified of being caught with marks. But that's ok, for now.

And I know I may have given the impression that over the last few months Satoshi and I have done nothing but go to work, sleep, and fuck, but there are other things we do that are important: we both have other friends to see, I'm gaming and writing a bit, and Satoshi has his family and, needless to say, his fishing. So I can't pretend our lives aren't full. But he misses it, I know, what we used to do. It's like an itch that someone's told him he mustn't scratch.

“Oh-chan,” I say, as we're sitting watching TV at 2am one night, “I want to give you a present.” Satoshi looks up from where he's sitting on the floor at my side, and rests his chin on my knee, looking surprised.

“It's not my birthday.”

“I know that,” I tell him, stroking his hair. “It's more of a congratulation present. For finishing filming. You know, Kaibutsu-kun?”

“Ah,” says Satoshi, finally catching on, then shrugging. “I don't need a present for that.”

“Well, that's too bad!” I state, pulling him up from his lowly position to straddle my lap, letting my hands rest on his ass (something I will never, ever be tired of). “Because I want to give you one.”

“Oh.” Satoshi leans down to be kissed, and looks thoughtful. “Well, there's a new fishing reel I was looking at...” Stupid Satoshi, always fish!

“I'll buy you that as well,” I say generously, “as long as it's not too expensive!” I pull him down so he's plastered against me. “But I was thinking more of a _sexy_ present. So, what do you want? Just say the word, Oh-chan, I'll do anything at all to you, I'll whip you into the middle of next week if that's what would make you happy.”

“It _would_ ,” murmurs Satoshi, a little shiver rippling over him, and he wants this, he wants it so badly, but... “But we _can't_ , what if Jun-kun finds out?”

“How will he find out?” I persuade, running my hands firmly up his back. “It's not like you're gonna walk up to him and show him your butt.” Satoshi stifles a giggle, but then shakes his head.

“I just can't.” Well done, Jun, you've given him a complex.

“Well, you think about it, Oh-chan,” I suggest, rolling him off me so I can see the TV, cuddling him against my side. “Whatever you want, I'll make it happen.”

“I'll think,” he promises, and I can sense him brightening up, very slightly. I do hope so. I find I've been missing this almost as much as he has.  
  
  


* * *

 

The next day, however, it seems Satoshi's brain power will not be required after all. This is thanks, for once, to Aiba, who apparently has done the rounds of his pervert friends since I asked him to help us out.

“I've found you and Leader the perfect game,” he proclaims proudly, cornering me after work in the car park and dropping without being asked into my passenger seat. I sigh and get in after him.

“What is it, then?”

“Kinbaku,” he says, as if he expects me to know what that means. I look at him blankly, so he rummages around among the debris on the floor of my car until he finds a bit of paper, and writes it down. I peer at the kanji.

“Oh. Rope stuff, right?”

“It's more than just 'rope stuff',” Aiba informs me, looking pleased with himself. “It's part of your cultural heritage! You two should certainly try it out, for educational purposes if nothing else.”

“What cultural heritage?” I scoff.

“They used to use it for tying up enemy samurai. Originating in the military restraints of -” Uh-oh, he's going into lecture mode.

“Skip to the end,” I tell him. He gives me a look.

“...Then later people sexed it up, and now it's a bondage technique. Pure and home-grown!”

“And we should be doing it why?”

“It doesn't leave marks that won't fade before morning.” Aiba starts listing off reasons on his fingers. “It takes a while to do the tying, but once he's there you can leave him for ages and still keep him hot; hell, you can sit next to him and play your DS while he drives himself crazy.”

“Hmm.” That sounds nice.

“If you learn it properly it's really, really pretty,” Aiba continues, “Leader would like that. And best of all: it's inexpensive.” Aha. My magic words.

“Ok,” I say, “I like what you tell me. Now what's the down-side?”

“You have to really learn to do it properly,” Aiba states, looking at me seriously. “Otherwise you could risk damaging Leader. And it takes a long time. Lots of people go to classes before they try it on their own.”

“You know Oh-chan and I can't do that,” I sigh. God, if it ever got out that Ohmiya were going to bondage classes...! (well, it might work as a skit, I should remember that one.)

“Then you'll have to do as much research and as much practice as you can,” he suggests. I suppose I look glum, because he bumps my shoulder with his. “It'll be worth it, though!” he says enthusiastically. “It'll be _beautiful_.”

“Aiba, you're not coming to watch.”

“Fine. I'll just get Leader to tell me all about it.”

“All right,” I say at last, after I've blocked out the image of Aiba watching me tie up Satoshi and offering helpful comments. “I'll talk to Oh-chan.”

“See? Aiba-chan always knows best.”

I roll my eyes, kick him unceremoniously out of my car, and go home to see what the Satoshi camp thinks about all this.  
  
  


* * *

 

As might have been predicted, Satoshi is immediately excited by the prospect, especially after he's spent an hour on Google images looking at pictures.

“This is like...art!” he says animatedly, pointing at the intricate patterns of rope biting into skin. It's very pretty, I'll give it that.

“That is like...impossible,” I retort, because I don't think I've ever seen anything so complicated. He looks up at me eagerly, and I rest my chin on the top of his head. “But I suppose we could do some research,” I concede.

So I begin another learning curve, and Aiba is right, it seems: this will need a _lot_ of preparation. I spend my free time at home now watching instructional videos online, ordering books from Amazon (yes, they exist, apparently this is a very high-end fetish) and reading guides to proper precautions and step-by-step instructions. I don't think I've ever put so much effort into something with so little immediate gain, but I can't deny it's fun, watching Satoshi watch me and seeing his anticipation build. Eventually I order the rope, lengths of red and cream hemp in 6mm widths that feel soft and flexible and about a million miles away from the fishing-boat rope we used so long ago.

Finally we both agree that we're ready to give it a try, starting out with one of the simpler techniques to immobilise his arms behind his back. I do all the advised pre-preparation, agreeing beforehand what I'm going to do with him, keeping shears at the ready in case I need to cut him out quickly, blankets, juice, anything he might need. I have the instructions printed out next to me, in case I forget the steps. I turn Satoshi to face away from me, and drop a kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Here we go, then.”

Fifteen minutes later we're both lying on the floor, giggling hysterically. So much for all my careful precautions! It turns out none of them were needed at all, because after completing only the first two steps I got completely confused and nearly tied myself to Satoshi, ending up with lengths of rope tangled all around my feet which, when Satoshi moved to see what was wrong, merely succeeded in tripping me over. Satoshi, finding his arms weren't secured at all, burst out laughing and dropped down on top of me, wrestling me until we were both caught in a gnarl of rope.

“Ahh,” I say, wiping my eyes, getting myself under control, “that didn't really go as planned.” Satoshi kisses me, then wriggles until he's free of the tangles and holds out his hand, pulling me out of the web.

“Doesn't matter,” he says charitably, “I had a good laugh.”

“It's these words, and these bloody wrappings,” I tell him, waving the stupid instructions around. “Bight, half-hitch, square knot.” Satoshi is nodding away at the list of terms, untangling the rope and setting it in neat coils on the table. He takes the instructions from me and looks over the diagrams.

“I would be _so good_ at this,” is his evaluation. I huff. Him and his damn boats.

“Come on, Nino,” he says suddenly, “let me try!”

“Eh?”

“Just once,” he begs. “Just to see if I can. Then I can teach you.”

“You've got a nerve, Oh-chan!” I say, because this is not at all what I had planned for this evening.

“Come on,” he murmurs persuasively, “you can leave your tshirt on and everything. Just for a few minutes, to see if I can do it.”

“Oh, all right,” I say grumpily, and turn my back, putting my arms behind me. He peers at the instructions again, and picks up a coil of rope, re-coiling it in an inexplicable way and then pulling out the centre, doing something with his clever fingers to make a loop.

“Now how did you do that?”

“Shh,” he tells me, and I glare at him. When the rope goes around my wrist, I feel a little weird. I would never let anyone, _anyone_ do this to me but Satoshi, and it suddenly feels good to know how much I trust him. The rope goes round my arm, over my shoulder, across my neck and back down the other side, and I give up trying to follow what he's doing. He's muttering the instructions quietly to himself, giving my arms little strokes of affection as he goes. He seems so confident that I feel safe (at least, he hasn't tied himself to me or anything yet), even when the rope goes tight and begins to feel constricting. I shut my eyes; it's not exactly unpleasant, the rope is smooth and soft, and Satoshi's long fingers are sure and soothing, and I suppose it's good that I should know what it is he'd be going through; but there's no doubt in my mind now that I prefer to be the one doing it to _him_.

“Are you ok, Nino?” Satoshi asks as he glides one hand down my back. I grunt at him and he nibbles my ear. He's working at my wrists again now, little tugs that rock me back on my heels. “Done,” he says in a surprisingly short time, slapping my ass. I glower at him, but it's hard to look threatening in such a position. I try to move my arms. Nothing.

“What's it look like?” I ask curiously.

“Really good.”

“Modest, aren't you,” I mutter, and he grins. I walk carefully to the bathroom, my balance oddly off, and stand with my back to the mirror, twisting so I can see what he's done. Hmm. It does look rather good, actually.

“All right,” I tell Satoshi, who has followed me, looking pleased with himself. “Very good, untie me now and teach me.”

“In a minute,” he says, and it sounds like he wants to laugh. I glance at him sharply. He leans forward and kisses me, very softly, then turns me round so my stomach is pressing against the sink.

“Oi,” I tell him, “I just asked you to do something!”

“Mm,” says Satoshi, close in my ear. “I just want to see what it's like for once.”

“What _what's_ like?” I complain, stepping backwards, but he sets one hand in the small of my back and presses up against me and suddenly I can't move. He _is_ stronger than me after all, then.

“What it's like being you,” he murmurs, and I gasp because suddenly his mouth is on my neck and his elegant hands are trailing down my torso, pinching at my nipples with his long-nailed fingers.

“Ow!” The tip of his tongue flicks out, drawing teasing little patterns on my skin. “This is not the way we do things,” I remind him severely.

“Come on,” he whispers, and before I can protest his right hand is in my pants, and I can't do anything about it because my arms won't move an inch. “Just this once, just quickly.” I look up, and see myself in the mirror, and Satoshi behind me, blushing and golden in contrast to my own pale skin. His hand begins to move, slowly, and I bite my lip and stifle a groan as his beautiful fingers start to get me hard. Satoshi's eyes are half-closed, amused, looking at me in the mirror. I squeeze my own eyes shut and he speeds up, his free hand running over the ropes that bind my arms and the base of my neck, his white teeth biting lightly at my shoulder through the fabric of my tshirt.

“You are going to get...so much punishment for this,” I growl at him, twisting my head so he can kiss me properly, already conjuring terrifying scenarios of pension forms and bank statements. He just smiles into the kiss and gives my balls a friendly tug before returning to my hard-on.

“You know I'll do anything you say,” he murmurs, the little hypocrite, leaning heavily against me. One hand is kneading my ass hungrily, while the other moves even faster, tighter, and he bites my ear so my eyes fly open and I see myself come, god, I had no idea I made that face! How embarrassing.

I collapse against the sink and he removes his hand, pulling my head round to kiss me again, lazily. I start to yell at him, then stop for a minute to get my breath back.

“All right,” I say when I can finally speak, “you untie me right now, Ohno Satoshi, or I swear I will never do this to you, _ever_.” He smiles sweetly at me and obeys, oh, _now_ you're back to that, are you, Satoshi? Well, it won't save you from the administrative nightmare I have planned! My arms, once I can move them again, are stiff, red rope patterns running up them. I massage my wrists back to life, then strip off my sticky pants and throw them in the laundry basket.

“So,” says Satoshi, backing away slowly from my terrifying glare, “do you want me to teach you these knots and stuff?”

“I do,” I tell him, padding after him as he reverses into the living-room, like a cat stalking a mouse. “But right _now_ ,” I pounce and knock him backward, sitting on him and pinning his arms above his head, “you have a lot of explaining to do!”

It takes another hour and a half for him to 'explain' before I'm satisfied. I guess kinbaku is going to be a long process.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is totally optional, written purely to satisfy my own person Toma/Ohno craving. So feel free to skip if threesomes don't float your boat!

“Oh-chan,” I murmur, “are you even paying attention?” The answer is very definitely _no_. I sigh comfortably. I'm lying on my back on the sofa, arms behind my head, half-dozing, while Satoshi gives me a long and lazy blow job and watches the World Cup on TV out of the corner of his eye. I know Japan are playing, but he might bring a little bit of that focus to me!

“Mmf,” says Satoshi, licking the underside of my cock casually before taking me deeply into his mouth. That's better. Then a few seconds later some idiot misses a goal and Satoshi forgets about me completely, letting out an irritated curse at the TV. I sigh.

Our love life, it's fairly easy to see, is rather up in the air at the moment. Satoshi is still worried about leaving marks, and I'm on my kinbaku training programme, which as far as I can see will stretch into infinity before I feel ready to let myself loose on Satoshi's body. I've got the hang of the crucial knots and wraps, now, thanks to him, though I have to keep doing it or I forget.

I've now progressed to the practice stage, which is currently being carried out on the stuffed bear I stole from my sister's old room when I went to visit. I know there's not _all_ that much in common between a fluffy toy and Satoshi, but it has a head and the right number of limbs, and with string and constant practice in front of the TV, the patterns are beginning to feel natural, my fingers more capable. I know now exactly what, in theory, I should be doing to Satoshi to keep him safe. I just haven't plucked up the courage to go the whole way yet (though I have finally mastered tying his arms behind his back). Satoshi is a very patient person, but I can sense he wants me to hurry up and get on with it, which I suspect is what this half-hearted service tonight is all about. Well, he'll just have to wait 'til I feel ready.

“Oh-chan,” I say again, hoping to win his attention back from the TV. “Have you thought what you'd like for your present yet?” Satoshi does look at me then (probably because a commercial break has just started), lifting his head and rubbing my hard-on thoughtfully with his thumb.

“A bit,” he says doubtfully.

“And?”

He dips back down to take me into his mouth, and I guess he's thinking about it now. His tongue swirls around the head of my cock before he surfaces again.

“...Nothing, really.” Is he blushing?

“There's something, isn't there?” I demand, lifting his chin to make him look at me. He lowers his eyes and shrugs, but at least he's forgotten the soccer now. “Come on, Oh-chan, I said it could be anything.”

“Well...” His eyes flick up at me for a moment. Satoshi, I did ask, I'm not going to bite your head off. “It's just...something I like thinking about, sometimes. But we don't have to actually do it.”

“Well tell me, then!” If Satoshi's embarrassed to admit wanting it, I can't even imagine what it is; bizarre visions of circus acts and weird food fetishes start circling in my brain; I beat them back.

“...I want you to fuck me,” he whispers, bright red. Uh-huh. “...With another guy.”

Oh. Oh! I blink at him. Well, compared to what I'd been imagining, that's actually mild, but...

“Seriously,” I say, half sitting up and peering down at him, “...that's what you want, Oh-chan, to be double-teamed?”

“I said it was only a thought,” he mumbles, shame-faced. So he does want it.

“...Oh.”

“I'm sorry, Nino,” he says, throwing his arms round me, “I didn't mean it, I shouldn't have said it.”

“Just...shut up a minute, Oh-chan.” I try to tamp down my surprise, and think about this. Now this may come as a shock, but I'm not a hideously jealous person (Chinen being, obviously, the exception that proves the rule), not since I've known for sure that _I'm_ the one Satoshi loves. And if _I_ was the one at the top of the food chain...I try to imagine it for a moment, Satoshi helpless between me and some faceless mystery guy, or being made to do whatever he's told while I watch like an evil overlord. Huh. The thought appeals. Damn, between Satoshi and Aiba I guess I've become a fully-fledged deviant too.

“Let's just suppose for a second,” I say musingly, “that I might say yes.” Satoshi's head snaps up and he gives me an incredulous look, that pretty pink mouth hanging open. “If I _did_ let you – and I'd only ever let you once, Oh-chan, this is a one-off, non-exchangeable gift – who would it be?”

“I -” he stammers, and hah, now I've got the upper hand again and he's gaping with surprise. “I don't know!”

“Well,” I say, “I don't want you doing it with just _anybody_.”

“Jun-kun?” he suggests. Guess he's recovered enough to make jokes, anyway.

“Hah hah hah,” I say drily. “What about Matsuoka?” Satoshi looks thoughtful.

“...I don't think he'd be into boys,” he concludes. “What about -”

“ _Not_ the big guy,” I tell him, before he starts listing the entire cast of Kaibutsu-kun. He grins at me, just a little bit.

“How about Nishikido-kun?”

“Ack, no,” I tell him. It's not to say that I don't like Ryo, but ever since I saw him play a very convincing crazed girlfriend-beater I've found him a little scary. Also, he may be more handsome than me, and that would never do.

“Oh.” We go down the list a little further, from Nakai (absurd) to a hot camera-man on VS Arashi (too hot, I veto that one immediately), and to my mild surprise I find myself getting very, very turned on. Satoshi, obviously, notices this, and encourages me with soft kisses to the tip of my cock.

“This is ridiculous,” I tell him, because we can't agree on _anyone_. “At this rate we'll be left with _Aiba_ , and then I'm afraid I shall have to shoot myself.” Satoshi snorts ungracefully. “Come on Oh-chan, think hard. Who do you really _want_? You have to want this guy enough to let him inside you, remember.”

Satoshi purses his lips; then he blushes again, quite adorably, and looks down at the floor.

“...Toma,” he says in a little voice; and then, again, more surely, “I want Toma.”

Of course. Why didn't I think of it before? (not that I can be expected to come up with particularly brilliant suggestions when my heretofore monogamous lover suddenly informs me he wants a threesome...) Satoshi and Toma have known each other a long time, on and off, and have had something a little bit special ever since their drama, and there's at least a deep liking on Toma's part even if there isn't anything else. And I don't find him repugnant, and neither is he hot enough to make me paranoid.

“Toma could be a possibility,” I agree, and Satoshi looks up at me, eyes shining. Then he frowns.

“But...what if he doesn't want to?” he asks, “what if he says no, what if I ask him and he won't want to be my friend any more?”

“I don't think that's very likely,” I tell him kindly. The way they used to look at each other, especially right after Maoh...with the benefit of hindsight, I'd say this was probably overdue. But Satoshi has just slipped into panic mode, and is chewing his bottom lip, my erection totally neglected. I sigh inwardly and give up on it, because this has actually turned into a serious proposal.

“And Toma's Jun-kun's friend more than he is mine,” worries Satoshi. “No, no, it's not a good idea, what if he tells Jun-kun?”

“You are a dope, Oh-chan,” I say, stroking his hair soothingly. He gives me a tiny, interrogative pout. “If you were Toma, if you were _anyone_...would you tell Matsujun that you'd just fucked his Leader?” This is a good point, and Satoshi calms down a bit. I pull him up to rest on top of me, raising my head to give him a firm, comforting kiss. “If you want Toma, then Toma you shall have,” I tell him, “even if I have to hold him down. Which I won't. You'll see, Oh-chan, you're irresistible.”

“So you'll help me?” he whispers, snuggling down against me.

“I will.” I make Satoshi look at me. “Just...don't tell Aiba this time.”

“Really?”

“ _Don't_.”

Satoshi nods, and throws his arms around me, gratitude and excitement all in one lung-crushing hug. Right. Now how on earth am I going to work this one?  
  
  


* * *

 

As it turns out, nothing could be simpler. After coming up with and discarding several elaborate plans involving fainting fits, mesmerism, and on one occasion rohypnol, Satoshi just gives up and invites Toma round to see his new place, while I'm still processing the fact that I've actually said _yes_.

Toma turns up on the doorstep with wine and a housewarming present of coasters (coasters?? Just how old are you, Toma?), and is greeted by Satoshi in hip-hugging jeans and an adorable yet skin-tight little shirt. Toma lets himself be swept into a hug, apparently unaware of the vast hotness of Satoshi's apparel (of which I am uncomfortably conscious, and if nobody else was here I'd be ripping it off, right this minute).

“Hi, Nino!” says Toma in vague surprise as Satoshi leads him into the living-room.

“Yo,” I return, switching off the Wii and taking the wine Satoshi has forgotten to relieve Toma of. Toma is looking at me quizzically.

“I live here,” I tell him, since he's obviously too polite to ask.

“Cool,” he says. “I haven't had a flatmate since my last girlfriend.” Satoshi throws me an anxious look behind Toma's back, and I shake my head at him.

I go into the kitchen for glasses and obligatory snacks, while Satoshi takes Toma on a rambling tour of the apartment. I come out just in time to hear Satoshi say casually,

“...and this is our bedroom.”

“Eh?” says Toma. Very nice, Satoshi, very subtle.

“We _live together_ ,” I tell him again, popping up behind him, in case Satoshi hasn't made the implication quite clear enough.

“You...” Toma looks from one of us to the other, mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish for a few seconds, and then says “...oh!” He blinks. I think this is the first time anyone has ever come out to him. Poor guy. If he thinks this is his biggest shock of the night...

“You're only the second person who knows,” says Satoshi appealingly. He looks up at Toma, touching his wrist lightly, and Toma gulps. “...You won't tell anyone, will you?” Toma is staring at Satoshi's mouth, as if it's the first time he's ever really seen him. This is so going to work.

“I – oh, no. No, course not!” What a nice guy. He must be wondering why on earth Satoshi invited him over at all.

We all troop back to the sitting-room, and I open the wine, giving the first glass to Toma, who drinks it rather fast, looking surreptitiously around the room, presumably for any signs of uber-gayness that he missed out on before. I pour him another glass. Satoshi doesn't try and sit next to him, but sprawls on the rug opposite, so Toma's eyes naturally fall on him. Satoshi is really a lot cleverer than everyone gives him credit for.

After a while of drinking and eating snacks, and talking about work and gaming, I notice that Toma is beginning to look a little flushed – not drunk, just slightly merry, and his eyes are darting to Satoshi more and more often, trying to see any difference, now that he knows what he knows. Satoshi gave up talking as soon as we moved onto games, and is lounging on the carpet, playing with paper and colouring pens, cutting out elaborate shapes with his scissors. He looks adorable, pink tongue stuck out in concentration, and deceptively innocent.

“You two...I'm really happy for you,” blurts out Toma suddenly, and he actually sounds genuine, if tipsy. I take this as my cue, and leave to go to the bathroom. Once I've washed my hands I open the door very quietly and stand there, watching. Neither of them notices me. After a minute, Satoshi puts his scissors down and gets up, moving over to Toma, who looks up at him curiously.

“What's this?” Toma asks, and Satoshi grins and holds up a red paper bow. Without waiting for permission, he bends over Toma and sticks the bow to his chest.

“There, he says proudly,” not backing off.

“Uh,” says Toma, putting down his glass, shuffling back a little in his seat. “What's this for, Oh-chan?” Satoshi smiles sweetly, and Toma swallows heavily.

“Nino said I could have a present,” Satoshi explains, a little too close for comfort, “for finishing my drama.”

“Ok...”

“ _You're_ my present,” he whispers, stroking the bow.

I stifle a snigger: a variety of expressions cross Toma's face, but it looks like he can't decide between offended, flattered, terrified or just plain lucky – so he settles on flabbergasted. Satoshi doesn't wait for a reply but drops to his knees, long fingers creeping forward to Toma's zipper.   
Ah, that looks familiar.

“Whoa, whoa!” yelps Toma, grabbing Satoshi's hands, horrified. So does that. But then instead of giving in and just letting Satoshi have his way, Toma tugs him back up, away from the many delights that Satoshi's mouth in the vicinity of one's crotch promises. Wow. What fortitude.

“Oh-chan...” mutters Toma, as if he has something crucial to say. “I don’t…I’m not -”

Satoshi sinks down slowly until he's straddling his lap, and Toma gulps, mouth opening and shutting a few times. Then he slides his hand around the back of Satoshi's neck, and just kisses him, deep and slow and reverent. Guess he forgot what he was planning to say. Satoshi returns the kiss, and Toma makes a little noise – I can just imagine what Satoshi's doing with his tongue.

I stand there, watching, feeling slightly odd but not particularly jealous at the sight. At last Toma grabs Satoshi's shoulders and gently pushes him back, scarlet and disbelieving. I can't deny it's interesting watching Satoshi go to work; I imagine I looked pretty much the same once he'd finished with me the first time. I wonder idly how much a significant number of the female population would pay to see Serizawa Naoto and Naruse lock lips; I'd be rich, I conclude.

“...I've wanted to do that for ages,” says Toma softly, amazedly. “Just once. Ever since...”

“I know,” murmurs Satoshi, fingers at the hollow of Toma's throat. “They were both so _stupid_.”

“Who were stupid?” I ask from my vantage point, and Toma jumps, literally jumps, as if he'd forgotten I even lived here. I guess Satoshi's kisses do have that effect. I give him a wry smile and a little salute, and he goes even redder, if that were at all possible.

“Our _characters_ ,” explains Satoshi, turning to me with a smile. He is really enjoying this, those sleepy eyes are sparkling, the curve of his mouth damp and gleaming from being kissed. “And we spent so many episodes just _crying_ – well, it was kind of weird, wasn't it, Toma?” Toma just nods, a reflex action, still holding tightly to Satoshi's small waist.

“Oh-chan,” I scold him lightly, as Toma sits there looking between us in bewilderment, “you should be more polite to your guest. Why don't you offer him something?” Satoshi grins and takes Toma's face gently in both hands.

“I'm offering,” he says softly, lips an inch away. “Just once.” Toma takes one more incredulous look at me, and I nod at him. He closes his eyes and immediately kisses Satoshi again, harder this time, and I see the moment Satoshi lets him take the lead. Huh. Guess it's true what they say, everyone in Johnny's _does_ seem to go for boys. Or maybe it's just Satoshi. I watch with interest and mild horniness as Toma's hands slide beneath Satoshi's shirt, pushing the fabric up slowly and revealing his slender back, and Satoshi is still kissing him, soft and teasing, and I wonder what it feels like, someone who kisses differently to me, after so long.

This goes on for a while before I notice that things might be getting stuck, and that Toma isn't sure what to do, or can't believe he's allowed to do it. I peel myself away from the door-frame and pad over, sitting down next to them on the sofa.

“Hey.” Toma jumps again when he notices me right there. This is hilarious; he's much more twitchy than I would have thought. “Oh-chan,” I order, patting my lap, “come here.” Satoshi gives Toma a last open-mouthed kiss, then slides out of his hold to sit himself comfortably between my legs. I nuzzle at his neck and he grins breathlessly.

“Right, _you_ ,” I continue, motioning Toma to kneel down in front of him, “take his clothes off.” I'm going to have to organise this whole thing, aren't I. Oh well, if I'm not used to being the bossy one by now I never will be. Toma does as he's told, giving me a look that's part freaked out and part grudgingly awed before he kneels between Satoshi's knees and begins to kiss his throat, fingers falling to the buttons of his shirt. Satoshi tips his head back with an indulgent little smile, and I let my own hands tease his nipples until Toma has fumbled the cloth away and is tentatively exploring his warm skin. Satoshi presses back against me pleasurably, and I gulp, I'm going to be hard in a few seconds if he keeps this up. I try to stay cool by thinking about Jun in his face pack, cucumber slices on his eyes. That's better.

“Can I...take your pants off?” I'm interrupted in my thoughts of self-preservation by Toma's voice, sounding as though he might pass out at his own daring.

“Don't ask him,” I instruct, pinching Satoshi's ass hard to make him raise his hips. “Just _do_ it.” Satoshi smiles, Toma looks terrified again, but the pants and underwear come off in short order and there is Satoshi in all his glory and Toma's just gawking at him, and I know _that_ feeling perfectly well.

“Kiss him,” I order Satoshi, biting at his ear briefly, and he wraps his arms obediently around Toma's neck, pressing their mouths together eagerly. I take advantage of the distraction to begin touching Satoshi, who gives a little moan into Toma's mouth, hot and hard beneath my fingers. I can't really see a lot, what with having the back seat, as it were, but I feel the ripples of Satoshi's arousal through the shivering skin at the nape of his neck beneath my lips; and I can certainly feel when someone else's fingers bump mine in a quest for Satoshi's hard-on.

“Ah, sorry!” The fingers jerk back.

“No no, be my guest,” I say magnanimously.

“No, please go ahead.”

“Somebody do _something_ ,” Satoshi interrupts, wriggling against me, leaning down to trail warm kisses down Toma's sternum through his clothes.

“You keep quiet and do as you're told,” I tell him. “We'll touch you when we're ready, and not before.” I tip Toma a wink over Satoshi's shoulder.

“ _I'm_ ready,” he says dumbly, and I sigh. Some double act we're going to make.

“Knock yourself out, then.”

I watch, Satoshi's cheek pressed against mine, as Toma's hands reach out, nervous, fumbling, but Satoshi's head falls back and he lets out a little moan. Toma looks like an electric shock's just gone through him at the sound, and he moves forward to kiss Satoshi's chest, embarrassedly but ardently, licking carefully at a nipple and then blushing when Satoshi mewls and grabs his hair. I wonder what he's thinking right now; like me the first time, he's probably judged it best not to think anything at all.

I stop paying attention to Toma and begin to touch Satoshi again, kissing his neck, his shoulders, my hands running hard down his hips to hold him so he can't reach up so greedily into Toma's fingers. Soon the combination of so many hands and mouths seems to have done away with his awareness completely, he's gasping and writhing in our grip quite shamelessly, legs curled round Toma's torso, one hand in my hair, pulling it annoyingly hard, and the other tugging clumsily at Toma's tshirt to no particular effect.

“Nn... _please_ ,” he breathes, and neither of us stop but continue tormenting him, me very deliberately and tactically, because I know every spot on Satoshi's body and how it will respond, and Toma unthinkingly, wonderingly, still bowled over by how fast everything is happening and this new Satoshi he never could have imagined (well, perhaps he _imagined_ it, but he's certainly never seen it until now). I hear Satoshi make a desperate little noise, one I know quite well.

“Oh-chan,” I warn him, but too late, he's already coming, making a mess of himself and Toma's hands. Well, he managed _that_ in record time, I must say. Toma, after a moment of being totally shocked at what his fingers have done, leans in and kisses him, and Satoshi, now soft and pliant and lazy, parts his lips and graciously accepts it. I let him get away with this for a minute before I tug him back by his hair chidingly.

“What a way to behave, Oh-chan,” I tell him. “People will say I've taught you no manners at all!” Toma looks vaguely amused, if confused, until I gesture at the mess Satoshi has made. Satoshi takes Toma's hand, raises it to his mouth, and proceeds to suck the stickiness off it, finger by finger, his pink tongue flicking out, eyes demurely downcast under Toma's wide-eyed stare.

“Now say you're sorry.” I push Satoshi off my lap and onto the floor, Toma stumbling to his feet so he doesn't get bowled over as well. Oho, Toma, I do believe you are excited, if your jeans are anything to go by. I cross my legs to keep myself in order, lean back and watch my boy go to work.

Satoshi gazes up at Toma, kneeling in front of him, and runs his hands up Toma's legs, and from a third-person perspective I see it even clearer, that Ohno Satoshi was born to look up at men (of course, Toma is taller than both of us, which helps). Toma makes a feeble effort to hide the effect this is having on his jeans, why I can't imagine, but Satoshi nudges his arms aside, breathing warmly on his erection in a way that soaks through the fabric, deliciously hot. Toma's hands come down to grasp his hair, and Satoshi spreads his slender legs for better balance and expertly unzips Toma's pants, tugging them down around his hips along with his respectable black underwear. I won't go into detail over Toma's cock, because that would be ever so slightly weird. Suffice to say that Satoshi seems most pleased, exploring with curious fingers, light sweeps of his nails that have Toma gasping.

“Oh-chan, you don't have to -” he begins, and then Satoshi performs his magic trick of getting you to shut up instantly, by taking Toma all the way down his throat in one movement. Toma looks at me, unfocused, as Satoshi begins to move, and if he's not thinking 'you fortunate bastard' then there must be something wrong with him. Satoshi draws back with a satisfied noise and proceeds to be a little more subtle, giving Toma the full service, stage by excruciatingly delightful stage.

“Oh-chan,” I say, slightly gruffly because I'm getting turned on again now, I can't help myself, watching Satoshi do this from an angle I've never had the chance to before, taking in his spread legs and the graceful line of his neck. “Stop _now_.”

Both Satoshi and Toma make equally disbelieving noises, but Satoshi reluctantly lets Toma go and turns to face me, still on his knees, his lips damp and flushed, his skin slick with sweat. Toma gives me a look that fully satisfies any desire I might have harboured for evil overlord status, and I grin.

“Don't you want to fuck him?” I ask, casually, and Toma goes pale. Wow, I said it. I wasn't sure I actually could until now, wasn't sure I was secure enough in myself to give Satoshi up like this, if only for this one moment. Satoshi, for his part, just shivers to himself at my words and looks up at Toma, shyly, affectionately.

“Do you want me to?” whispers Toma, talking to Satoshi, crouching down to take his face in both hands.

“Please,” murmurs Satoshi simply, melting against him. Without giving Toma time to get worried or have a sudden sexuality crisis, I stretch out and nudge Satoshi down with my foot, until he's lying on his stomach on the carpet, his perfect, heavenly behind a surely irresistible temptation. Toma swallows heavily, and Satoshi looks back at him, smiles, leaning up on his elbows comfortably.

I dig down between the sofa cushions and pass Satoshi the lube; he hands it to Toma, who, upon seeing what it is, looks petrified.

“I can't!” he exclaims, “I don't know how!” Back the tube comes to me.

“Well, you'll never have a better model to learn on.” I hand it back to Satoshi, who gives it back to Toma. We then play pass-the-parcel with the lube for a little while, before I throw it at Toma's head.

“Come on, Toma, do me a favour.” I settle back. “This is a first for me too, I want to see it from this angle.”

“If it hurts,” says Toma at last, shakily, gingerly touching Satoshi's pretty ass, “I'll stop.”

“I doubt very much if you'll hurt him,” I tell him honestly, encouragingly. Satoshi nods in agreement and levers his hips up a bit, parting his legs before Toma even has to ask him. I watch with interest as Toma fumbles the cap off, coating his fingers. Huh, he goes in with the other hand. Course he does, he's not a leftie like me. Satoshi tenses up a bit, Toma's fingers are a lot longer than mine, and unfamiliar, but Toma strokes his back consolingly with his free hand, and he soon relaxes, soft moans dropping from his lips, each one making Toma blush a little more. I like a blusher, I decide; much better than someone who goes in all cold and over-confident, and it seems Satoshi agrees with me.

When Satoshi is hard again and practically whimpering into the carpet with desire, I flick a condom at Toma.

“He's all ready.”

“Let me do it,” whispers Satoshi, rolling over to take it from Toma's clumsy hands and slide it onto his cock. “Are you ok?”

“Are _you_?” asks Toma, sounding petrified. Satoshi laughs softly, happily, and turns back round to face away from Toma, supporting himself on his knees and forearms.

“I – I'm going to do it now, Oh-chan,” Toma whispers, his thumbs parting Satoshi's round little buttocks, lining himself up. Satoshi just wiggles impatiently. I watch on, I'd never have believed I'd enjoy this so much, but I do, and I'm hard despite myself; I reach surreptitiously into my pants. Toma slides into Satoshi, slowly, slower than I ever did, and I begin to touch myself, watching the expression of pleasure and discomfort on Satoshi's face, because whichever way you swing it Toma is bigger than me.

“Oh-chan...!” gasps Toma inarticulately, and begins to move, gently, carefully, and in just the way that gets Satoshi utterly frustrated after about five minutes. I smirk to myself as I hear Satoshi groan, see his head drop onto his arms with the intensity of the sensation. Wait, he's just going to waste like that! And here I am sitting all by myself.

I slide off the sofa and kneel in front of him, giving Toma a little wave which he doesn't even notice.

“Oh-chan,” I order, lifting his chin. God, he does look like a slut right now, eyes half-closed, rocked forward on his knees by each slow, steady thrust. “Come on, kneel up properly,” I tell him, and he pushes himself up with difficulty to his hands and knees, eyes widening as the angle changes. I tuck a damp lock of chestnut hair behind his ear, and swiftly unbutton my pants, because this, really, this is too hot. Satoshi reaches for me eagerly, and I grab him by the hair and guide his mouth over me; he gives a kind of whole-body shiver that makes Toma groan through gritted teeth, and I think _this_ is what Satoshi was imagining, being pinned between the two of us, completely helpless even without ropes or cuffs or chains.

“You're doing really well...you're so good, Oh-chan,” I praise him breathlessly, my hand still tangled in his hair; I don't even have to do anything, just kneel there as Toma's movement pushes him forward, and I look down at the length of Satoshi's body and have seldom seen _anything_ that threatens to push me to the edge so fast. Toma is still going slow, still steady, and Satoshi gives a muffled moan of pleased frustration. Seriously, how long is he going to last?! I can feel myself getting close already (it's not surprising, is it? Is it?), and more when Satoshi senses it and begins to use his tongue in earnest as well.

“Oh-chan!” I mutter, trying not to sound too carried away; I cup the back of his head and pull him to me for a moment, breaking the rhythm so I can come in the back of his throat. Toma looks vaguely shocked at this, insofar as he can manage any expression beyond blank pleasure, which is, again, hilarious. Satoshi releases me, gives me a tremulous smile with bruised lips, and I sit down hard on my ass in front of him, tilting his head back to kiss him, weird taste but I'm used to that now.

“Don't _stop_ ,” pleads Satoshi when I let him up for air, to anyone who's listening. “Toma, _please_ , it feels so -”

“Wait a sec,” I tell Toma, holding up my hand to stop him. “Do him on his back, so you can see his face.” Toma, who it seems is nearly as tractable as Satoshi in this situation, or is still just bewildered enough to run with anything, nods shakily and pulls out of Satoshi, turning him over to lie face-up on the carpet. Satoshi's arms reach out, tugging Toma back down to him, and Toma braces himself carefully so as not to crush him, lifts his slim hips off the floor easily, and pushes back into him. Satoshi cries out, and when Toma sees his face, so flushed and pretty and changing expression with every little movement, it seems to finally stir him to real action; and now I get to see the difference between me doing Satoshi and someone taller, more muscular than both of us taking him.

“That's better!” I tell him as he begins to fuck Satoshi harder, faster, which I'm happy about because I was beginning to worry that Toma was some kind of sexual prodigy who would be able to go for two hours without coming or something, and what would that do to _my_ reputation with Satoshi? I rest Satoshi's head in my lap, pinning his wrists beneath my knees, and stroke his hair as Toma lifts his hips higher, one slim leg draped over his shoulder and the other pushed back towards Satoshi's own chest. Then I turn my attention away from Toma, because I'm told I can be off-putting at the best of times, never mind when someone is trying to fuck my boyfriend. Satoshi is moaning now with each thrust, faster and faster until the sounds begin to blur together.

“Touch him,” I tell Toma without looking at him, “or I think he'll explode.” Toma stares blankly at me for a second, then gets my drift and reaches down to take Satoshi's pretty cock in one hand, moving with the rhythm, watching Satoshi's face with the most amazed expression I think I've ever had the good fortune to witness, and when Satoshi comes for a second time he laughs. I'm almost too busy giving Satoshi upside-down kisses to notice, but I manage to make him look up when Toma finally climaxes, with another amusingly repressed expression, biting his lip to stop himself yelling. He pushes into Satoshi hard a few more times, then collapses on top of him, chest heaving.

“Well,” I say to Satoshi, “are you happy now?” He can't even answer me, his breath is coming so fast, just turns his head to kiss my hand. I release his arms; Toma is still inside him, and Satoshi takes him by the shoulders and pulls him down to lie flush against him, wet and sticky and relaxed. Toma gives me yet another look, questioning, so I nod permission and he folds Satoshi in his arms, pulling out of him and then holding him tightly, wordlessly.

I leave them be, and clamber to my feet to fetch towels, drinks, tissues. I feel rather good about myself at this moment, knowing I've made Satoshi so happy with so very little effort. When I get back Toma is sitting up, still looking shell-shocked and unbelievably lucky, and Satoshi is playing with his fingers affectionately. I throw him a towel and he cleans himself up gratefully, looking from one to the other of us as if we're both completely mad. I shrug at him, grinning, and lean down to kiss Satoshi and wipe some of the mess off him.

“You were very good, Oh-chan,” I tell him. “Now what do you say to Toma, seeing as he's been so nice to you?”

“Thank you, Toma,” recites Satoshi, still flushed and sticky and looking mostly like an advert for a gang-bang video, and sits up to press a kiss to Toma's mouth. “You were a lovely present.”

“Um. You're...welcome?” ventures Toma, apparently not sure what the proper etiquette is when having a threesome with an ex-co-star and his lover. Perhaps he thinks he should be thanking _me_. In the end he holds out his hand. I snort involuntarily and then Satoshi shakes it, and he grins. In the end we shake hands all round, sniggering at the absurdity of the situation.

“Well,” says Toma eventually, after we've all had a drink and rubbished Johnny's team-building policy as much inferior to our own, straightening his clothes reluctantly and heaving himself to his feet, “I suppose I should get going. Thank you for a...a lovely evening.” Ahh, poor guy! I can't wait for the next time he meets Arashi in the Jimusho. Satoshi sees him to the door, still naked and damp, and I reckon that image will be imprinted on Toma's brain for pretty much the rest of his life.

“Oh-chan,” I call, and he walks exhaustedly towards my voice, “come and get in the bath.” We lie there for a long time, until the water grows tepid and we're wrinkled up like old men, Satoshi sore and tired and contentedly smug.

“Thank you Nino,” he murmurs, and I tug at his wet hair fondly. “I love you,” he tells me, quite seriously, and even though I know it already I never get tired of hearing it. I grin and splash him.

“I wonder who you'll be able to traumatise next?”


	14. Chapter 14

“Stop looking so pleased with yourself,” I mutter out of the corner of my mouth. “Aiba is getting suspicious.” Satoshi, who has indeed developed something of a swagger after being had by both myself and Ikuta Toma last week, looks round to see Aiba behind us with Sho, badly suppressing an expression of near-terminal nosiness. If Aiba finds out what we did, I'll be badgered for weeks for every little detail of the tryst, as well as complaints that he wasn't invited to this exclusive bang-Leader party. I'm therefore acting as nonchalant as it's possible to be, but Satoshi is just radiating satisfied vibes next to me, so I don't think it's working.

The situation isn't helped when Toma himself rounds the corner. Typical, we usually go without bumping into him for weeks together, since he doesn't really use the dance area of the building and is generally off on set somewhere, but now here he is; Jun collars him and embarks upon a long conversation, the rest of us loafing around in the corridor behind him. Poor Toma follows as best he can, but his eyes keep being drawn towards Satoshi in spite of himself, and I can guess what images are playing through his head and making his dialogue with Jun somewhat less than sparkling. Satoshi just smiles at him sweetly, in his usual absent way, eyes twinkling.

Sho wanders off to get himself a drink from the machine, and Aiba leans down to me.

“What's up with Leader?” he demands in a piercing whisper. “Why's he looking so excited? Have you two been doing something new? Tell me all about it!”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, “he just...caught a new fish the other day.”

“Huh.” Aiba takes this in, then nudges me teasingly. “Don't you think Toma looks uncomfortable?” he continues. Stop thinking, Masaki, that is _not_ what you're here for! “I wonder what -”

“ _All right_ ,” I interrupt him, before he starts making wild (and accurate) guesses. “Oh-chan is excited because...uh...” I flounder around while Aiba nods encouragingly. “Because I'm going to tie him tonight,” I come up with eventually. “For the first time, properly.”

“Ooh!” whispers Aiba, in great excitement, and then, “are you sure I can't come and watch?”

“Yes I'm sure!” I hiss at him. One, because I can't think of anything more embarrassing than Aiba watching me get off, and two, because I have no intention of tying Satoshi yet, not until I've practised a few hundred times more on Mr Bungle the bear, anyway.

“Oh well, it was worth a try,” says Aiba happily, as we at last begin to move off. I'm probably the only one who spots Satoshi give Toma's hip a subtle squeeze as he passes. Little tease. Aiba abandons me to trot ahead and throw a long arm around his shoulders, and I walk with Sho at a more measured pace, swiping some of his Calpis for myself.

Then, to my horror, I see Aiba lean down to whisper to Satoshi in front of me. Satoshi inclines his head and listens carefully. I hear him let out a “what, really?!”, and he glances back at me, eyes sparkling, lips curling into a little smile of excited anticipation. Fuck. Thank you very much, Masaki, you interfering...

I push down an impending panic attack. Tonight. Oh my god, it's going to be tonight.  
  
  


* * *

 

I hear the interviewer fire a question at me, and jerk myself into wakefulness.

“Half past five,” I tell her, looking at my watch. For some reason, everyone turns to stare at me and the interview comes crashing to a halt. Aiba sniggers at me.

“...That's more an answer we would expect from Ohno-kun, isn't it?” the interviewer comments, hiding a smile behind her hand.

“Huh?”

“If I can just recap for Nino,” says Jun, smiling politely, his eyes silently deploring my unprofessionalism, “Sato-san asked if you don't think it's time at least one of Arashi settled down?”

“Oh!” I guess I was responding to the word 'time'. Because other than that I might as well have been in another building for the duration of this interview. It's _Duet_ , and it's Sato-san, whom we all know and...know, so this shouldn't be too challenging. But I just cannot get Satoshi out of my head, and what I'm going to have to do to him tonight, and all the things that could happen if I screw it up.

“...I think it's all a matter of finding the right person,” I tell her, because she knows full well that none of us are at the stage yet of being allowed to get married, even if we wanted to; she knows I can't say that on record, too. “It doesn't matter how old you are; even if you have to wait years, it's better to end up with the one you love than settle for anything less.” There, that was suitably sentimental. Sato-san gives me a wry smile.

“And you're still waiting?”

“Don't worry,” I say, sugary sweet, and Jun rolls his eyes, “I'm sure I'll have no trouble spotting the love of my life.” Aiba's grinning at me. Stop it, Masaki, it makes you look like you have a crush on me. Satoshi just sits through all this with the serenity of a man who knows that everyone will be happy with him if he says five sentences altogether, and that he's already said four.

“What about Ohno-kun?” asks Sato-san, and he blinks and switches on.

“I'm concentrating more on my hobbies at the moment,” he tells her, and I can see her bracing herself for an anecdote about fish. But, “I'm going back to art for a while,” he says. “I'm thinking of making something with Nino, actually.” I fight back a blush. Careful, Satoshi, this woman is cleverer than you!

“Really!” exclaims Sato-san. “Well, you are the artistic pair, that's true. Can you tell us something about it?”

“Not really,” says Satoshi vaguely, and gives her a smile, his nose scrunching up. “I just know that it'll be _beautiful_.”

 

“Are you really going back to art?” asks Jun as we're leaving the building, with the hopeful voice of a perfectionist who's had to witness a hundred careless sunburns and endure a thousand ill-timed fishing stories.

“Mm,” says Satoshi, digging through his wallet for his subway pass. “It might be fun.”

“I'll give you a ride if you want, Oh-chan,” I say casually, shaking my car keys at him as his ticket fails to produce itself.

“Oh, thanks,” he says gratefully, and it would all sound perfectly natural if Aiba wasn't standing behind Jun's shoulder and making thumbs-up signs. I ignore him and saddle Satoshi with my bag, and we begin to walk away from them with a wave.

“Leader!” calls Jun, when we reach the corner. “What are you going to make with Nino?” Satoshi gives him another wave.

“I told you!” he shouts back, as I tug on the back of his collar and pull him towards the car park, “something beautiful!”

I hope, I really hope, that he's right.  
  
  


* * *

 

 

As soon as we get home I set both our phones to silent and shove them deep into my bag, because it's going to be hard enough for me as it is without Jun calling to do a spot-check or Aiba with obscene advice. Satoshi stretches, from his raised hands all the way down to his tiptoes, and slouches off to change into sweat-pants, because I've told him that if we're going to do this, we're not going to rush it. I calm myself down with cooking some pasta, and we eat it on the sofa, elbows pressed together, the very beginnings of intimacy.

Once Satoshi has been fed and watered I send him off to the bathroom, because if I manage to tie him up properly there's no way I'm untying him again just because he forgot to go beforehand. In the meantime I check the support at the top of the bedroom door, put a soft blanket in the doorway where Satoshi will be lying, and begin to lay out the coiled ropes on the nearby table, yards and yards and yards of cream hemp, as well as water and scissors and everything else I might conceivably need.

“Are we ready, then?” Satoshi wanders in, surveys my preparations and gives me a nervous, anticipatory smile, because it seems a long, long time since we've been here, metaphorically. I look at him closely, but the only signs I can see are those of complete willingness and compliance, so I step forward, our bodies brushing, and give him the elbow pinch. He leans in to kiss me by way of an answer, his tongue brushing mine delicately, soft and slow, setting the pace for this whole encounter.

“Ok,” I whisper, pushing his pants down his hips, letting them slither to the floor and off. “Lie down, Oh-chan.” He sinks down obediently, body gliding against mine, and reclines on the blanket, a simple, beautiful canvas just waiting to be worked on. I feel a momentary panic, because nothing I've ever tried to do, art-wise, has come out the way I intended. But I'm just scaring myself now; Satoshi isn't a piece of paper; and he has to be able to trust that I know what I'm doing.

I kneel over him, slow and unhurried, and begin to kiss him, all over his body, as though I'm relearning it inch by inch. His skin is warm and smooth beneath my lips, his limbs perfect under my hands, and I resolve that at the end of this he will be in exactly the condition I found him in.

“Oh-chan,” I say, once he's melting under my touch, “would you mind it if I covered your eyes up? Just while I'm tying you?” It would help, I think, if Satoshi, who is much more proficient than me, can't see all my stupid concentrating faces while I'm carrying out each step. Satoshi nods easily, and I grab one of my oh-so-fashionable scarves from the wardrobe. He gives me one last, long look before I slip it over his eyes.

“D'you feel all right?”

“I'm fine,” he says calmly, and I press another kiss to his mouth, the soft flesh relaxed and happy beneath my lips. I pick up the first coil of rope, holding it firmly, remembering each step in its theory with the ease of long practice. Pulling him gently to his knees, I begin the first stage. When the rope touches him Satoshi lets out a quiet gasp, and I can feel all his senses prick up. Not being able to see, every turn and twist of rope must be doubly sensual to him. I get through this bit with no mistakes (though it feels like I'm holding my breath the whole time), securing his arms behind him, elbows almost meeting in the small of his back and wrists tied together, arms bound in a beautiful pattern all the way in between. Well, it looks a lot better than it ever did on Mr Bungle, that's for sure. I judge the tautness of the rope carefully, taking care to make it tight enough to constrict but not so tight it will cut off his blood supply to a dangerous degree. I hope.

“Nino,” breathes Satoshi, as I'm weaving the rope across his slim chest in a complicated wrapping to keep his arms close to his body. “It feels nice, Nino.” I guess it does; his golden cheeks are suffused with pink beneath the scarf, and now he's beginning to feel immobilised I notice that he's starting to get hard. Calm down there, Satoshi, this is not a race!

I pick up yet another length of rope, having worked my way down over his flat stomach, and proceed to tie his right leg, leaving his calf bent against his thigh in a series of carefully spaced wrappings, calculated so I don't cut off too much blood to his foot. I know Satoshi isn't the most flexible of the five of us (especially when it comes to touching his toes), but for a twenty-nine year old he's extraordinarily limber, and doesn't protest at being bound in such a difficult way. I expect that will change a bit later, though.

“Does it hurt anwhere, Oh-chan?” I ask him, and he shakes his head, smiling a bit as I drop a kiss to his knee. He lies there serenely, half on his side and half on his back so he doesn't crush his arms, his breathing evening out, slow and deep, he's still half hard with the sensations caused when I drew the rope across his skin. Time for the crucial part. I scratch my head for a minute, then resume.

Once I've sorted out his left leg, I stand on a chair and draw the end of this tripled length of rope through the ring attached to the clamp at the top of the door; it won't support his full weight, I know that, but it should hold at least half. I clamber down from the chair, with the dangling end of the ropes.

“I'm going to move you a bit now,” I tell Satoshi, and he just nods; he looks so comfortable now, drifting gently in the blackness of non-sight, that it seems a shame to bring him out of it; but I want to see whether this is going to work properly or not. I brace myself and pull smoothly on the rope, and yes, it's working, his left leg is lifting in the direction of the door clamp and he lets out a little exclamation of surprise.

“It's ok,” I tell him. I keep pulling gently until his hips are almost off the floor, only his bent right leg anchoring his lower half to the rug. I check the ascending spirals of rope on his left leg, and they're not putting too much pressure on him, so I tie the end of the rope off, with a few inches of slack, at another clamp on the side of the door, put there specially for the purpose. Then I look at him for a minute to see how he's taking it.

“It's fine,” agrees Satoshi, who has his right leg braced a little to hold his left up, easing the tension on the rope suspending it; I can tell he doesn't want to relax, because I tied a knot against the back of his right hip that will dig in and annoy him if he rests any weight on it. Yes, Satoshi, it's fine. For now. I kneel silently back beside him, and when I touch him he shivers.

“There.” Slowly I tug the scarf from his eyes, and he blinks up at me dreamily, eyes dark and liquid with slow-burning pleasure.

“What do I look like?” he asks eventually.

“You were right, Oh-chan,” I whisper, and lean down to kiss him. “You're beautiful.” He smiles languidly. “Shall I carry on?” I ask him.

“Eh?” says Satoshi, “there's more?” Of course there's more, Satoshi, did you think I was going to let you hang around all night without providing any entertainment for myself?

“Keep still,” I tell him. These last bits are tricky. I slide my fingers beneath one of the wraps of rope around his chest; I untwist the three main strands that make up the rope at one side, catching Satoshi's left nipple between two of them, the third strand resting comfortably on top of it. Satoshi clearly wants to wiggle a bit at the odd sensation, but holds himself still. I untwist it on the other side and repeat for the right nipple, flicking it into hardness with my fingernail and making Satoshi whimper. I smooth out the rope and nod to myself.

“What's...that in aid of?” asks Satoshi curiously, looking down at himself, still easing the pressure on his left leg by holding his hips off the ground.

“Just keep still.” I kiss his stomach and move away, taking another length of rope and attaching one end to the rope holding his wrists behind his back. This might work or it might not. It's kind of an optional extra, but if it does...I will be very pleased with myself.

“...?” Satoshi makes a surprised, wordless exclamation as I guide the rope down his lower back, between his legs and back up to wrap in a loose loop around his erection.

“Don't move,” I warn him again, and stand up, climbing up on the chair once more to feed this rope through the ring at the top of the door as well. I tie it off in the same place as the other one, taut enough to keep it wrapped loosely around his cock but not so much that he can actually feel anything.

“There,” I say, in great satisfaction.

“What?” asks Satoshi from his prone position, bemused.

“You'll find out.” I move the chair, and step back, to get the full view. “You _are_ a work of art,” I tell him, not too modestly but it's mostly thanks to him, his head tilted back to look at me, chestnut hair spilling in short waves over the rug. The rope works its way in intricate patterns over his body, from the criss-cross binding his arms together to the elegant spiral that works its way up his extended left leg, pulling it towards the ceiling. His skin has a faint sheen of sweat now, from the effort of holding his lower half up. He looks at me appealingly, and I want to touch him, drop down beside him and take him right as he is now; but that would take all the fun out of it.

“...What are you going to do with me now?” he asks in a hushed voice. I smile sweetly at him.

“Not a lot,” I tell him, and am awarded one of his pouts in return, not the sulky one but the pleading one. “I'll be watching what you do to yourself, though.”

“I can't do a thing to myself,” he retorts gloomily, and I feel a smirk coming on.

I don't have too long to wait; five minutes pass before Satoshi decides he's tired of holding his hips up, and that he'd rather suffer some pressure on his left leg for a while. I see the exact moment when he relaxes, dropping down a few inches.

“ _Aahh_!” His dreamy eyes slam open and he moans in shock, and that face was well worth how long it took to tie him up. Hah, it worked! What anyone with a basic grasp on the laws of physics could have figured out (and this does not include Satoshi, especially in this state) is that, as he let his hips relax towards the rug, both the rope round his leg and the one circling his hard-on would tauten. He'd figured out the leg, but hadn't thought any further than that, probably just worrying about the knot that would start digging in to his hip. Very unwise, Satoshi. I take a smug look; the rope has pulled tight around the base of his cock, and if he stays in this position he'll be hard forever more.

“Nino!” Satoshi wriggles against the feeling, as if that would help, and I grin again because, as he moves, the rope that I just placed so carefully over his chest tightens, the strands I'd unwoven springing back together on his small, hard nipples. He lets out another whimper, and the more he moves, the tighter it gets. No more relaxation now, his breath is coming in short, panicky little bursts, his face flushed, trying to work out whether it feels good or not.

“Shhh, Oh-chan,” I tell him, dropping to kneel beside him, stroking his hair, “you're all right, you're safe, just keep still and I'll tell you what to do.” I repeat it again when he doesn't seem to hear me, and this time he freezes, those big eyes looking up at me imploringly. I haven't seen that expression in a long while; I'm almost surprised how much I've missed it.

“Lift your hips back up,” I say, nudging him a little further onto his side so he can support himself with his right leg a bit more easily. He does as he's told, and sighs with relief as the pressure comes off his leg and the rope loosens around his erection.

“Good boy,” I tell him, still keeping up my comforting petting of his hair. “See? As long as you stay just like this, you'll be comfortable.”

“But...”he starts to protest, and I give him a mildly evil smile.

“Well, if you don't have the stamina, Oh-chan,” I say ruefully, “I guess you'll just have to suffer.”

“Nino, _please_!”

I give him a little pat on the behind, which he's holding obediently off the rug, and back off to lean against the wall, grabbing a pad and pen from the table by the door.

“Nino,” he says, clenching his jaw in an effort to keep himself steady, “what...are you doing...?”

“Writing the shopping list,” I inform him casually, writing down _milk_ , _panko_ , _pepsi_. He gives a strangled little laugh, then stops in a rush as it threatens to upset his balance. I chew the end of my pen, watching him from beneath my lashes. I can't believe this is working, I can't believe I did it properly, _thank you_ , Mr Bungle! I sit back, ready to enjoy the show and make sure he's safe.

Before too long Satoshi's muscles get tired again; he holds out as long as he can, I can see him quivering, but in the end he has to relax them, crying out as the ropes tighten up again. It becomes a cycle, of torturous pain and pleasure and the moments of relief which are worse because he knows what will inevitably be coming when he tires out each time. And I don't have to lift a finger. This whole kinbaku thing is really going to be very convenient for my schedule, after the initial long tying process; I'll be able to get bags of work done!

After a few rounds of this Satoshi begins to cry, quietly, as he always does when he's too turned on and frustrated to bear it, or when he's slipping into that weird, not unpleasant headspace.

“... _Please_ , Nino,” he begs again, humbly, his voice is so pretty like this, nearly as pretty as when he sings. “Please let me go...”

“Hmm?”

“ _Please_.”

“Do you remember your safety word?” I ask him, just in case he does mean it and this is too much for him. After a moment he nods. But he doesn't say it. Satoshi is truly extraordinary. He looks painfully hard now, his erection still constricted yet unable to get any friction on it. I would be swearing blue murder up and down if it were me. I wait until he's stopped begging, then put my list down and crawl over to him, propping his hips up with my knee so he doesn't have to support himself. I hear a choked sob of relief, and I take him in my hand, stroking him fast, running my free hand over his damp skin, letting him feel me with him all along his body. With the rope loosened he comes almost instantly; I tilt my head consideringly and keep on stroking him.

Satoshi stares at me incredulously, and I grin at him.

“You're doing so well, Oh-chan,” I say soothingly, “you can take a bit more.” He bites his lip and I can tell he wants to yell at me; but he holds himself back. Before too long he's beginning to get hard again under my insistent fingers, though his expression is telling me he's anything but happy about it. I wait until he's growling at me under his breath tearfully; then I remove my supporting leg and scoot back to my viewing spot. Satoshi moans hopelessly, his worn-out muscles doing their best to hold him up. Come on, honey, you're an idol, you're meant to be fit! The cycle starts again, and I manage to get through a quick lyric practice and several credit card statements, always with one eye on Satoshi, before he comes again all by himself, crying out softly, his slender body moist and flushed, glistening droplets of sweat running into the grooves where the ropes bite gently into his skin. Just...beautiful.

The third time round, beyond one weak “ _please, not again_ ,” Satoshi doesn't even have the energy to protest, just gazes at me helplessly, resigned to this cruel spiral of pain and arousal. He's stopped crying now, there doesn't seem much point, and lies quietly. I find, when I get up, that I can check him all over for proper circulation without him even noticing I'm there; he's gone to that deep, distant place inside himself, breathing slow and shuddery, eyes half-closed and shining. I run my hands over him lightly, and he responds with little shivers to my touch.

“Oh-chan?” No answer, but I'm not as freaked out any more as I was the first time it happened, the first night of _the box_. He doesn't ever seem to be able to describe this state afterwards, but I don't think he dislikes it. Since I've got him here I take the time to just stare at him, drink him in in a way I never have the leisure for at work: the cupid curve of his mouth, parted and trembling, the soft contours of his face against the lightly toned lines of his body. And, as always, I'm amazed that he chose _me_ , because although even I will admit that Jun is the most extraordinary looking out of the five of us, Satoshi is surely the prettiest, the sweetest. Even like this, in utter control, possession of him – or maybe because of it – I'm humbled by him.

He must have been tied for an hour or more by the time he starts to react verbally again.

“Oh-chan,” I say softly, letting him know I'm here, as he blinks and begins to look around. The awareness of where he is, the sensation his body is enduring, hits him, and he gasps, gritting his teeth.

“Nino...” he whispers, seeing me at last. “...Please...I've had enough.” I know immediately that we've reached one of his limits, and it's our first go so I won't try and push it tonight, because this is actually the first time he's ever asked me to stop and meant it. Even when I was beating him, he would always beg for more, right up to the point where I reached my own limit. I kiss him on the forehead reassuringly, then remove myself slowly from my resting place beside him and pad over to untie the ropes attached to the door. I hold on to them, and gradually let them fall slack, lowering Satoshi's leg gently to the floor.

“Nng!” He groans as the blood begins to fully circulate in his extremities again, and I begin the long process of untying him, equally slow and luxurious as the tying was, his sensitised skin shivering beneath the rope drawn across it, the quiet agony of trying to stretch his limbs. Once he's fully bared I sit back and look at him again; the reminders of his binding are still visible, exact imprints of the rope patterns in red and white on his skin. I was slow and careful to avoid rope burn, and by morning they'll have faded completely.

Satoshi lies there, too exhausted even to examine what I've done to him. I raise his head and give him a drink of water, smoothing out the blanket beneath him. He looks a bit lost now he's no longer tied, as if he's not sure what to say, what to do. I rub some oil from my after-care kit onto my hands, and begin to touch him all over, making sure he feels me every second, massaging away the rope marks and easing his stiff arms and legs, turning him over to work on his back until he's sighing quietly beneath me. When I slip my hand between his legs, to my amusement (and pity, a bit), he's still hard, which must be the last thing he wants right now. I let him come slowly, at his own pace, his long fingers tangled in my hair as I kiss him.

“Nino,” he says sleepily, lying there satiated for the third time (and that's a record for us, I am very impressed). “Shall I do something for you?” I think about it and shake my head at him because, bizarrely, although that was probably the most erotic spectacle I've ever seen, I don't feel particularly horny right now. All I want to do, I find to my surprise, is hold him, show him how much I love him, how grateful I am for what he lets me do to him. I think...this is how these things are going to be separated, for me, anyway: his hard, accessory-based torture for my (grudging) arousal and release; and this for emotion, it's so deep and subtle. I don't think Satoshi particularly separates these things out in his mind, but that's ok. I think I see, now, that all these practices have their place in what makes our relationship.

I pick Satoshi up off the floor, staggering a little, and put him in our bed. He immediately winds his arms around me and won't let me go. I'm more tired than I would have thought, too, so I sink down beside him and let him hold me.

“That was fun,” pipes up Satoshi after a while, as if he's switched back on and has no memory of how he was crying and begging for release not even an hour ago. “Let's practise it again tomorrow.” Maybe he doesn't.

I'd better start levelling up, or this man will be the death of me.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains a short S&M scene which, while consensual, is not as much fun as in previous chapters. Just for your information, so you can choose to skip it if you want

This is shaping up to be an idyllic summer, as we swing into June (despite my traffic-related misadventure and my precious car being stranded for a _year_ , Johnny, you bastard). Not the kind of summer you had when you were a kid, of course, because this one involves a new album, a new tour, and also includes Ohno Satoshi, helpless and happily suffering under my hands. Everything is working perfectly: my kinbaku is getting better and better, while Satoshi is regaining some confidence and making a return to the box, on a carefully regulated schedule, in the face of Jun's current mildness. When we know he's going to have to be active or take his shirt off, we take a break from serious playing, and then Satoshi goes fishing, slathered in factor 50 sunblock up to his hairline, and I game indoors with the air conditioning on. Life has a rhythm to it now, work and play and pain all weaving nicely together, by dint of my brilliant organisational skills.

I'm happy. Satoshi is happy. Hell, even Jun is happy, in his stressed-out, perfectionist way.

We should have known it couldn't last.

 

We're on break from dance practice, which is really stepping up now that we have a tour in the offing. Everyone from Aoki-san to our choreographer is on the roof, handkerchiefs over their faces against the early afternoon sun, snoozing off lunch. It's hot, and sticky, with the heavy stillness that promises a storm, and everybody is putting off going back to work, because it's so much easier to just lie here.

Once everyone is asleep, or at least quietly fantasising about Misaki Ito and ice baths, I feel a slender hand slip into mine, and open my eyes to see Satoshi grinning at me. He sets a finger to his lips, and tugs me up off the floor.

“ _Come on_ ,” he mouths, and we make our way off the roof, giggling silently. I feel rather flattered; I must really be pleasing Satoshi at the moment if I'm worth missing out on the chance for a work-time doze. Satoshi pushes me inside the elevator, takes us down, down, into the cool recesses of the teaching floor, dim and deserted because the juniors are all at some pre-holiday boot camp.

“Oh-chan,” I say, as he pulls me into a store-room, dust floating around us. God, I remember this place, fifteen years old and sneaking in to drink chu-hai with Aiba. “What are you thinking, hmm?” I run my hands down his arms, pinning them to his sides. I know exactly what he's thinking, actually, even if we only do this very occasionally.

“I'm hungry,” replies Satoshi, eyes crinkling up mischievously.

“You just had lunch,” I point out, my lips brushing his as I speak, not close enough for it to be called a kiss. Satoshi pouts, in what he imagines to be a very winning way, which it is.

“That's not what I'm hungry for.”

“All right,” I say, as though this were a chore. I turn him and push him against the wall, trapping his wrists above his head. “Just a little snack.” Satoshi grins again, trying to lean forward. I tease him for a minute, then let him kiss me, and he makes a satisfied little noise as I shove a knee between his legs.

“Can we play tonight?” he asks, as I bend my head to kiss his neck, lightly, not wanting to leave marks. I consider; I am the keeper of the schedule.

“We can play,” I say thoughtfully, rubbing my thigh against him until he whines, pushing back towards me. “Once you clean the bathroom.”

“Do I have to?” wheedles Satoshi grouchily, and I remove myself from him long enough to spin him round and press him into the wall face-first, biting at his ears, his shoulders, through his thin tshirt.

“That depends what you want,” I say casually. “What do you feel like, Oh-chan? A spanking? A whipping?” He shudders against me pleasurably. “Or shall I just tie you up and let you suffer by yourself?”

“...Everything?” breathes Satoshi hopefully.

“It'll cost you,” I tell him cheerfully. I run one hand across the front of his pants; he's starting to get hard. But I'm not stupid enough to risk getting naked in the Jimusho, though Satoshi is well worth it. Instead I slap his ass, hard, making him squeak, and let him go.

“We'd better go wake the others up,” I tell him, and he sighs in disappointment. “Before they all turn into lobsters.” I sling an arm round his shoulders and we exit the store cupboard, Satoshi giggling again in happy anticipation of the night ahead (well, the post-housework section of it, anyway).

Then we stop dead, both at the same moment. No. _Impossible_. What the _hell_ would he be doing down here? I turn around slowly; and there, leaning against the wall next to the cupboard, is Jun. He has his phone against his ear, and he's staring straight at me with an expression I've never seen on his face before. Satoshi freezes beneath my arm.

“Sho-chan,” Jun says into the receiver. “Wake up, Sho-chan. Get Aiba. Have him bring you to the room where we used to have speech classes. No, _now_.” He snaps the phone closed, then turns his eyes away from me as if I don't exist.

“Leader,” he says softly, and Satoshi starts to tremble, because there is no doubt that Jun has heard everything. “Come with me. _Now_!” he barks, when Satoshi makes no move to follow him, and even I jump. Then I square my shoulders, because Jun is younger than me and I'm not afraid of him. Not _at all_...

“Oh-chan,” I whisper, wrapping my arm more tightly around him. “Come on.” Satoshi looks up at me, and it doesn't matter much whether _I'm_ scared or not, because he's _terrified_. “I'm with you,” I tell him. He nods. I lead him after Jun.

 

“Tell me everything, Leader,” says Jun, eyes closed. “And then I'll call Aoki-san.”

“Don't you mean _or_ you'll call him?” butts in Aiba. “That's not much of an incentive, Jun-kun.”

“If you're not going to take this seriously, Masaki,” snaps Jun, “then shut up.” He turns his attention back to Satoshi.

“...There was never any girlfriend at all, was there?” Satoshi shakes his head guiltily. Jun throws up his hands, trying to fit his head around the idea that Satoshi could be dumb enough to lie to him. “Did you really think I wouldn't _watch_ you, Leader?” They all stare at us, all three: Jun incandescent with anger, Aiba pitying and trying to look supportive, and Sho incredulous and still lost.

The other two have convened with us in a small, empty classroom, desks and whiteboard and dust that makes Aiba sneeze, and Jun, having given them a concise and disgusted synopsis of what he's just heard, is now homing in on Satoshi, who is standing a little behind me and grasping my hand for dear life. Jun takes this in.

“So what are you, gay now?” he asks, in utter outraged perplexity.

“I don't know,” says Satoshi in a small voice, shrugging.

“Does it really matter?” I chime in, still holding his hand.

“Hah, you're right,” Jun exclaims, “I suppose it doesn't! Not compared to this, the fact that it's you...” He still looks disbelieving; “...it's _you_ who's been hurting Leader all these months! Fuck!”

“That's not what I meant and you know it.” Satoshi is shaking against me, so I push him down gently into a chair and face up to Jun. “Does it really matter if Satoshi loves a guy? Because he _loves_ _me_ , Jun-kun; and he's all I want.” Aiba, though looking terribly worried, goes all soppy at these words; Sho, poor Sho, just stands there with his mouth hanging open until Aiba pushes it closed for him.

“I'm talking to Leader,” Jun says dismissively, “not _you_.” I bare my teeth at him, a totally unconscious gesture from somewhere deep down in my psyche. “Tell me, Leader,” says Jun, and his soft voice is a lot more dangerous than his shouting, in terms of Satoshi's defences. “Does he tie you up?”

“Yes,” says Satoshi, simply. I guess he knows lying would be pointless now.

“Does he beat you?”

“Yes.”

“Does he fuck you?”

“Of course.” Ok. That's all perfectly true, but it hardly conveys the beauty of it; that line of questioning just makes it sound like I'm an abusive husband. Satoshi has no sense of rhetoric at all, but it's not like that's his fault.

“Yes, Jun-kun,” I announce, unrepentant, “I do all those things. Because it makes Oh-chan happy.” Jun throws me a poisonous glance. “And you know what else? I cook and I clean, I sort out the bills, I make the bed, I make sure he eats enough vegetables, I'm always there for him when he's tired; so don't try and make out that this isn't a real relationship, because you know nothing about it.”

“Wait, you're _living together_?” demands Jun, and I shrug and nod. He goes even paler, if that were possible, and I can tell he's thinking back to all the times he's called me and I've declined to go out because I was at home playing games; well, now he knows what games we play all right.

“Ever since Oh-chan moved house.”

“...Then it's domestic violence,” says Jun flatly. He's looking at me as if he doesn't know me at all. Satoshi makes a noise of protest, but to my surprise it's Sho who actually speaks up.

“No, Jun-kun,” he states; he's been so quiet I'd almost forgotten he was there. “It isn't.”

“Huh?” say Jun and I at the same time. Sho has his arms folded, frowning a little.

“My aunt's husband used to beat her,” he tells us slowly, thoughtfully, “and even when I was too young to understand I knew there was something wrong. She was nervous all the time, even when she was at our house, she couldn't sit still, and she was _unhappy_ , anyone could see it. But Satoshi-kun isn't. Whatever Nino's doing...it's not abuse.” He says it almost reluctantly.

“No, it isn't,” whispers Satoshi from his corner. “Because I _asked_ for this, I _wanted_ it.”

“You keep quiet,” snaps Jun, repressively. “You don't know what you want!”

“Jun-kun.” Aiba pipes up at last from beside Sho. “It's not like this is something _unusual_. There are thousands of people all over the world living this kind of relationship and being _happy_.” Jun looks unmoved. “And if even Sho-chan says it's ok -”

“No,” interrupts Sho, before Aiba can get any further with this. “That's _not_ what I said.” He sighs, and I feel awful, because Sho never asked to be involved in this mess, and he's about to say something that will hurt. “...It's not abuse,” he continues slowly. “But I'm sorry, Satoshi-kun...that still doesn't mean it's right.” Satoshi drops his head, and I see Sho bite his lip; I know the kind of pain it must cost him to have to make Satoshi unhappy.

“ _Why_?” asks Satoshi, a little crack in his voice. Aiba is staring at Sho demandingly.

“Because,” begins Sho, trying to sound reasonable, “quite apart from how _dangerous_ it is for you two to have a relationship at all – you know what would happen if you got caught -” He jerks his thumb; “You'd be right off to America, Nino, and you can kiss Arashi goodbye. _Apart_ from that...I have to agree with Jun-kun.” Aiba looks scandalised. “You think this is what you want, Leader, but being in a relationship where you're being controlled, where you're being physically harmed...it's not right.”

Sho is speaking gently, logically, a stark contrast to Jun's fury; but once Satoshi realises that he doesn't understand either, he shakes his head hopelessly. He rubs a pretty hand across his eyes, and I can tell he's about to cry, from weariness or frustration or I don't even know what. And there's _nothing_ I can do about it. Nothing. However much we explain, they won't understand: that I don't control Satoshi's thoughts, his feelings, that I can barely make him vacuum the floor at the best of times; and that if anyone is leading this relationship, it's Satoshi himself, and me scrabbling to keep up all the way.

“So you're going along with him?” I demand, jerking my head at Jun, trying to keep my temper but it's hanging by a _thread_.

“No,” says Sho, patiently, unhappily. “I don't want to tell anyone. I want Arashi to stay together.”

“Then -” begins Aiba, but Sho is still talking.

“So you have to break it off. Both of you. You have to _stop_ this, totally, before it goes too far.”

“I'm not going to stop anything!” I exclaim immediately, because how can we ever go back, Satoshi and I, when we've made something so wonderful together? But now Jun chimes in too, and his, as always, is the voice Satoshi hears.

“Leader,” he says tightly, “you have to. It's the only way, or it's out of my hands. _None_ of us can accept this – shut up, Aiba – because it's _wrong_.” Satoshi is crying now, quietly, but Jun is implacable. “If you love Arashi like we do, you'll _stop_. Won't you? You don't want to hurt us, right?”

“Hey,” I growl, and everybody turns to look at me. “Why don't you leave Oh-chan alone, Jun-kun? Try some of that emotional blackmail on _me_.” Jun's elegant lip curls, and oh, he knows what he's doing, he won't even bother with me; he'll play on Satoshi's tractability, his unwillingness to make anyone unhappy, his respect for Jun. I've known Jun practically half my life, and I don't think he'll scruple to use such underhand tactics if it means getting his way. “Come on,” I say, moving between him and Satoshi, straightening up to my full height (I still can't get eye level with him, god, I remember when he was shorter than me...). “Persuade _me_.”

“What's the point?” says Jun disdainfully, and he's looking at me like I'm a criminal. “It's not a hard choice, is it, Leader?”  
I hear Aiba make an inarticulate sound of dismay as I square up to Jun, and Sho edges towards us, ready to pull us apart, because I guess it does look like we're about to fight. Then,

“ _Wait_!” Satoshi's voice is loud and tearful, and it stops us all dead. He screws his sweet eyes closed, hands over his ears. “Will everyone just _be quiet_?” We all stare at him, temporarily silenced. He's breathing quickly, unevenly, tears tracking slowly down his round cheeks. I want to hold him, just hug him until everything's better.

“Leader -” begins Aiba.

“I need to think,” says Satoshi, still with his eyes closed. “Just...don't come near me, don't talk to me, I have to think about this!” He sounds on the edge of hysteria. Sho moves towards him, but he takes one step to the right and slips out the door, and the sound of his running feet echoes in the hall. Jun pushes himself upright, looking determined.

“Don't you dare go after him,” I warn, because he can only make things worse.

“That's my line,” he retorts. I bristle, and the way I feel right now I could quite happily go a couple of rounds with him until one of us is bleeding. But that would just cement his opinion of me.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” says Aiba, and grabs me by the arm. “Come on, Nino. Let's go and get a drink. Come on.” He propels me out of the room, and Jun is still glaring, glaring at me, with the look of a man whose perfect, ordered world is falling apart.

Aiba drags me into the same little room he brought me to so long ago, the last time my relationship with Satoshi hit the skids. We sit down together, and though every bit of me is crying out to find Satoshi, to make everything better, _somehow_ , I don't; I wait, and see whether Aiba will come through for me with some good advice.

“What are we going to do?” I ask dully, after a minute or so of silence. Aiba shakes his head, and I realise he has no better idea than me of how to appease Jun. Fuck. We sit a bit longer, until I notice Aiba is giving me nervous sideways glances.

“Well? Spit it out,” I tell him, because nothing could possibly make me feel any worse. Aiba swallows.

“Don't you think it might be better,” he says reluctantly, “if you two ended it after all? For a while, anyway.”

I stare at him disbelievingly, because I thought if we had only one advocate in this it would be Aiba. What happened to his support, support I was counting on?? He looks totally miserable, and then I realise that _of course_ he can't be objective, not when he loves Arashi this much, when he has this much to lose. Even if he agrees with us...he knows what would happen if Jun told management about us.

“We're not just... _having fun_ , Aiba,” I inform him, in case he hadn't grasped the depth of what Satoshi and I have together.

“...You're really in love with him?” he asks, but he doesn't sound surprised.

“ _I love him_ ,” I confirm again. “When I'm fucking...eighty years old and decrepit and grumpy, I want to be able to look round and _know he'll be there_.” I stop for a moment. I wonder how long I've felt like that? It must have crept up on me; but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know they're true.

Aiba sighs, sinks his head in his hands, pushing his hair back in a distraught gesture. “I don't know what to say, Nino. If you can't live without this, if you want it that badly, then fight for it. But this could break us.”

“I know,” I whisper. There's only one person who can decide this. I get to my feet, leaving Aiba looking stricken and guilt-ridden, and go to find Satoshi.

 

To my surprise, he picks up as soon as I call him, and though it's hard to tell over the phone his voice seems strange, distant.

“I'm in Studio B,” he says quietly.

“I'm coming.”

I walk into the room, bare and clean and lit only by the lowering afternoon sun. I see Satoshi immediately, this man who holds my whole future in his hands. Coming closer to him, I suddenly pause and sniff: Jun's hairspray, which you can smell from fifty feet away on a still day. He fucking came here, after all, and the impression is reinforced by Satoshi's stillness, his pale face, as though he's just endured such a storm of angry words that he no longer has anything left to fight back with.

“Oh-chan,” I murmur, taking him lightly by the shoulders. I wasn't sure what he'd do, but he immediately sinks against me, long fingers clutching the front of my tshirt. He's not crying any more, not even trembling; he's utterly still in my arms. “It's ok, I'm here,” I reassure him, my cheek pressed against his.

“Nino,” he says, and immediately I know, I _know_ what he's decided. I feel the burn of acid in the back of my throat.

“Tell me, Oh-chan,” I order softly. He takes a deep breath.

“We have to try,” he murmurs, and I can't tell whether it's regret in his voice, or anger, or _what_ it is. “We have to try as hard as we can to stop.” I squeeze my eyes shut, my hands tightening around his back. I'm not even surprised.

“Is this your decision?” I ask, speaking gently into his hair, and he pushes tighter against me. “Or is it Jun's?”

“Ten years,” says Satoshi, his voice muffled in my shoulder. Well, that's an opaque answer. “We've spent ten years building this, so many people, making Arashi something good. And we can't ignore that.”

“I never said we should.”

“If we...if we break up,” he continues, without even a catch in his voice, “then it will _hurt_ , worse than any way I've ever asked you to hurt me. But it'll only be the two of us. If we don't, if Jun tells...everyone will suffer.”

“What is this?” I say, and my voice is low and venomous. “The greatest good for the greatest number?” I've never pretended not to be selfish. I care about everyone, of course I do, but compared to Satoshi...there's no contest.

“If you like.”

“I don't,” I hiss. “I don't like anything about this, Oh-chan, and I don't think this was your decision.”

“It was,” says Satoshi firmly, still clinging to me, and his voice is _empty_. “Arashi comes first.” I crush him to me, the bile rising in my throat.

“I'll move out tomorrow,” I tell him, because what else can I do? I can't force him, not without damaging us even more. “And then we'll try. We'll try never to talk about this again.”  
  


 

* * *

 

We get home – I say home, but I'll only be saying it for one more night, won't I – and Satoshi sits on the sofa, where we've spent so many happy moments, his knees curled up to his chest. He doesn't speak; he knows there's nothing he can say to make this better. He just watches me, an awful crackle of tension between us as I stride around the apartment, locating my belongings and stuffing them into bags, my jaw clenched in case I say something unforgivable.

I don't care what Satoshi says – this isn't what he wants. Damn Matsumoto Jun and his puritanical morals, and damn the influence he has over Satoshi. My face is red with anger as I pack, anger at Jun most, of course, but at myself too because I couldn't think of a better argument in favour of us, and because I let us get caught in the first place; and anger at Satoshi, for being so sweet, so considerate of everyone else's welfare, their stupid opinions.

“Fuck!” My Wii is tangled up with the TV cables. I tug at them, get nowhere, and aim a kick at the console, sending it flying across the room. When I straighten up Satoshi is standing right behind me, looking at me pityingly, his face still, distant, melancholy. I can't bear this.

“Oh-chan,” I mutter, pulling him towards me, groping for his arm and pinching his elbow sharply. “Please. The last time. _Please_.”

“Yes,” he whispers, without a pause, and the next instant we're kissing, I'm tugging him against me furiously, my hand tangled hard in his hair. Satoshi moans against my lips; his expression may be cold but his kisses are hot and desperate, his tongue darting into my mouth as if he wants to take in every little taste of me before it's too late.

I push him backwards into the bedroom, tearing off our clothes, sending him tripping to the floor at one point but neither of us care. I don't waste time on the intricate techniques of foreplay, just kissing him, pinching him, biting him all over, my sole object to touch as much of his precious body as possible, to imprint myself on his physical memory so that even when he's alone in his bed, or sharing it with some woman he'll still _feel_ me. He slides his hands across me, clinging, his mouth moving over my skin, memorising every angle and line.

“Nino... _hurt me_ ,” he begs, and by that time I'm trembling with anger and desire and I don't hesitate. I don't bother with the niceties of wrappings or buckles or cuffs, just tie him, kneeling with his hands above his head, to the door-jamb, as tightly and thoughtlessly as a total amateur, and a cruel one at that.

And then...well. My advice is, don't _ever_ play with your partner in anger, not real anger. All those inhibitions I used to have, that bothered Satoshi so much because I couldn't give him what he wanted...all gone. I use every tool in the box, anything I can put force behind, beating him until I'm breathless and he's trying to muffle his yells behind his teeth, he's biting his lip until it bleeds, the skin of his back and his behind red and already coming up in welts. I know I'm not using any finesse, but that's about all I know, I can barely see him, barely hear him pleading for release past the dark wall of my own misery. He holds out as long as he can; I think it's safe to say that a long time passes before I notice anything again, and then when I do it's because he's gone so quiet.

“Niji,” Satoshi breathes, hanging limply beneath the rope; he sounds faint. “Nino, please, _Niji_!”

For an instant I have no idea what he's talking about, just another part of the senselessness of this whole day. Then I realise, through the confused haze, that it's his safety word, which I haven't heard since he told me what it would be, he's saying it over and over again, begging me. I know instantly that I've gone too far; and for a second, one terrible second that I don't think I'll ever forget – I don't care.

“ _Please_ ,” whispers Satoshi, voice ragged, trusting, loving. Another second, teetering on the edge; then I throw everything down and yank the knots undone, pulling the rope away from his wrists so he falls to his hands and knees. I look at what I've done, and sink to my knees myself: his smooth skin is lacerated from top to toe, deep crescents in the skin of his hands where his nails sunk in, his beautiful dark eyes huge with pain.

“ _Oh-chan_.” He looks at me, and he still loves me, his face is full of it, and the sight undoes me completely. I try to hold back on it, because _I'm_ supposed to be the strong one, the one in charge, but there's no help for it. I start to cry, huge, breathless, embarrassing sobs, because I don't know how we're going to carry on without all this, and I just don't _do_ crying in real life and I don't know how to stop.

“Nino,” says Satoshi, simply, and takes me in his arms, despite the agony his back must be causing him. I hold myself stiff and awkward for a moment, then bury my head in his chest, letting him rock me understandingly.

“ _I'm sorry_ ,” I wail, and he lets out a choked laugh, holding me as if this is the last time, and it is, god, it _is_.

“It'll be all right, Nino,” he murmurs helplessly, and at last his voice is cracking with the misery I feel. “Everything will be all right.”

He says it over and over, until my girly tears dry up, we're still twined round each other and I can't imagine letting go. He can say it 'til he's blue in the face. But without this, without him, I don't see how anything can ever be all right again.


	16. Chapter 16

It's my birthday, you know. What a way to turn 27. Stuck in a TV studio under forty-degree lights, trying to think of something smart to say, and feeling as though everyone is staring at me – well, obviously they are, they're meant to be – but I mean really _staring_ at me, whenever I touch Satoshi. But how can I not? It's my _job_ , as much as Sho's is to be smart and crap at sports, as much as Satoshi's is to be dim and accepting.

At first I tried not to touch him at all, in fact I couldn't bear to, knowing I couldn't be with him – but Aoki-san soon put a stop to that, asking if Satoshi and I were fighting, and, if not, to get back in there and put my arm round him _now_. And so, gradually, we've fallen back into the old pattern of light touches and whispers. I hate it, having to do this much and knowing I'm not allowed to do any more, all my senses tingling at his closeness, because we're being watched _constantly_.

“Where're you going now?” asks Sho after filming, and it might be a perfectly casual question, but these days, everything anyone says to me feels like an accusation.

“Home,” I say, smiling thinly. The word means nothing at the moment, back in my apartment that feels as empty as a hotel room, even with all my stuff in it. I hate living alone. It's not the sex that I miss. Well, not just that, anyway. I miss sharing my bed, because even when I can sleep it subconsciously feels wrong without the weight of Satoshi's limbs, his annoying snoring; I miss eating with him, bathing, and just sitting there while he doodles, both of us talking crap at a mile-a-minute. I knew this would be terrible; but I've broken up with people before, and I've always come through it. But this time...I can't see a way to get better.

“Don't you want to come out?” says Satoshi, his eyes too bright, “it _is_ your birthday.”

“Yeah,” agrees Sho. I sigh.

“Lead on, then.”

I have to say, it's only since this catastrophe occurred that I've really understood how great an actor Satoshi is, when he has to be. I know he's miserable, that I'm breaking his heart every time I'm cool with him, because I'm the same; but while I can hide behind my well-known and chronic bitchiness and mild sulks, Satoshi has to be gentle, amused, a happy target for teasing every day of the week. I wonder how he does it? I guess with Jun's eyes on him, he doesn't dare do anything else.

 

I say this, but the next day, after enduring an evening of yakiniku together, staff and all, it looks like Satoshi is going to break. He's gone very quiet, even quieter than usual under the constant surveillance, and I'm freaking out because my protective urge is going haywire. Jun sticks to him like a burr all morning, and to outside eyes it would probably be amusing, watching us pretend that nothing is wrong and that the five of us aren't treading on glass whenever Satoshi and I are in the same room. But I'm so close to punching Jun it's not even funny.

We do fairly well, I think, until Jun is called off to have some fashion-related discussion with the head of Wardrobe. Then Satoshi's eyes turn on me, amid the organised chaos of lunch being handed out, his bottom lip tucked under his top one in the perfectly adorable expression of worry we all know so well. This is dangerous. Think, Nino. I think...I should get out of here.

I wind my way through the labyrinth at the back of the studio, finding a vending machine and grabbing a CC Lemon to press against my forehead, the cool moisture staving off a headache. I sigh, and skulk in the shadows next to the machine. If I can just get through today, I tell myself, tomorrow will be easier. I say this every day, not that it helps. I miss him. I want him.

“...Nino?” Argh. No, I don't, I don't, I don't want him here at all! But too late. Satoshi peers round the side of the vending machine, and slips in beside me. “What are you doing down here in the dark?” he asks. I back off, squeezing myself into the corner, holding up my drink as casual evidence.

“What's it look like?”

“Nino...” he says softly.

“What are _you_ doing down here, if it comes to that?” I ask, quickly, because that sweet tone of voice is not safe at all, not now, not here.

“I wanted to see you,” he mumbles, sheepishly.

“You're seeing me all day long,” I remind him, a little snappishly because he's really not helping himself here, and he's certainly not helping me!

“I mean.” His fingers reach out to lightly brush my arm, the simple, private touch that I've been aching for. “Like this.” I reach up and push his hand away; I'm getting scared now, and angry.

“Oh-chan,” I tell him, and he blinks at my sharp tone. “Stop.”

“Huh?”

“This was _your choice_.” I fold my arms against the almost irrepressible urge to touch him back. “And I'm trying my best to abide by it. So don't make this harder for me.” He gives me a stricken look.

“I know,” he murmurs, “I'm trying, Nino, I'm really trying, but... _it hurts_.”

“ _Of course it does!_ ”

“Just a little while, Nino.” He moves towards me, reaching out again, and I have nowhere to go without physically pushing him aside. He stops, his hand an inch from my chest. “That's all.”

And I thought Satoshi was supposed to be the patient one. This...is a terrible idea, I tell myself, and mustn't happen; and even as I do so I'm reaching for him, my hand sliding round the back of his neck and I kiss him and feel him sink against me. Shit. Satoshi kisses me back, thoughtlessly, and nothing has ever felt as much like _coming home_ as his lips pressed against mine. He winds his arms around my neck and now I don't care _who_ finds us, even if it's Johnny himself.

It isn't, of course. We must have spent less than a minute in that corner, kissing frantically, dropping loving little whispers against each others' skin.

“You two,” says a sad voice, and I pull away from Satoshi with a start to see Sho leaning against the vending machine, obviously on sleuth detail from Jun. He looks resigned, miserable. “Are you trying at all?” Satoshi takes my hand; Sho, if only you knew just how hard we are trying.

“I can't just turn this off,” says Satoshi, gazing at Sho pleadingly, speaking slowly as if he's only now coming to the realisation. “And it's not right to make us try.”

“...You have to.” Sho shakes his head, and leaves us, looking so disappointed it hurts. I see Satoshi's jaw clench; he drops my hand.

“Come on,” he says tightly. “Time to go back to work.” He walks off, and I follow him, and we go back to filming as though the last five minutes had never happened.  
  
  


* * *

 

“Oi, wake up!” is the first thing Aiba says down the phone to me the next morning, breaking my precious lie-in. And then, “where's Leader?”

“He's at the Nihon Terebi office with Sho.” Why do I still know Satoshi's schedule as well as my own?

“No he isn't. Sho-chan just called me, and I'm calling you.”

“Well... _don't_ ,” I tell him, because I know perfectly well how late Satoshi tends to be when he has no-one to wake him up. And whose fault is that, now? “Call _him_ , and leave me alone.” I hang up unceremoniously, and shoulder deeper into the sheets, trying to recreate every precious little sensation of yesterday's kiss, Satoshi's soft lips against my own, the heat of his body, the sound of his whispers. Five minutes later, however, the phone rings again. I put the pillow over my head and ignore it, but it doesn't stop, so I grab it without opening my eyes.

“Aiba, _fuck off_!”

“It's Sho.”

“Oh.” I rub my eyes and groan. “Look, I told him to call Oh-chan. It's not my problem any more if he can't get up in the morning.”

“I have been calling him,” says Sho tightly. “There's no signal. And he's nearly an hour late.” I sit up. _That's_ not normal; Satoshi may sometimes forget his phone, but it's always reachable.

“Look. Calm yourself down, Sho-chan. He's nearly thirty years old, he hasn't drowned in the bath.”

“I _am_ calm,” lies Sho, flapping. “But Aoki-san's about to have a heart attack.”

“All right. Just wait. We'll meet up at eleven, for dance practice, and if Oh-chan still hasn't shown up...well, then you can worry.”

“But -”

“I'm going back to bed!” I announce, and hang up for the second time this morning. I don't, of course; I pace my living-room instead, stubbing my toes on game controllers and empty mugs. Where the hell could he be?! I remember how furious, how distraught he was yesterday, how desperately he kissed me. I wonder what he was thinking, afterwards, that might have prompted...this?

I haven't the faintest idea.

 

I get to work, and the first person I meet before I even get inside the building is Jun, slamming me up against the taxi I was forced to take as I'm paying the driver, who jumps as though it's a hijacking and then pretends not to look, because Jun is _very_ angry.

“ _What_ have you done with him?” he demands. I raise my eyebrows coolly at him, and try to refrain from hitting him in his perfect face. “Sho told me about yesterday,” he continues. “So _where is he_?”

“Jun-kun,” I say, as levelly as I can, “how long have you known me? Way more than a decade. Is there _really_ a part of you that thinks I could do something to Oh-chan? Leave off your squeaky-clean morals for a minute, and just look at me.” Jun folds his arms, and I lean back against the side of the car. He shakes his head, tight-lipped.

“That's what I thought,” I tell him.

“This is _all your fault_ ,” he hisses, and god, it sounds like a weird thing to say but when Jun gets angry, he's staggeringly beautiful. What a bastard.

“Oh really?” I tilt my head at him. “Because I thought that Oh-chan was perfectly happy, until _you_ turned round and told him he wasn't allowed to be.”

“That is not what I said!”

“Well, whatever you said, that was the effect of it. He was happy with me; and now he's unhappy without me, and thanks to you he's run off somewhere. It's really that simple, Jun-kun. You can be disgusted with me all you like – but take some fucking responsibility!” Jun narrows his eyes at this.

“This isn't helping,” he says eventually.

“You are damn right about that.” With that out of the way, I straighten up and stride past him, into the building and up to where Aoki-san is gibbering to himself in our dressing-room.

“I haven't told anyone else yet,” he says. I guess his ineffectualness is a mercy for once. “But if I can't find Ohno-kun soon, I'll have to report it.”

“So let's find him,” I say, and he sighs with relief. Honestly, what kind of manager is this? At this point, Sho and Aiba burst in.

“Look,” I tell them before they can even open their mouths, “I don't know where Oh-chan is. This isn't a prank, or a game. But wherever he is, we'll find him.” Aiba swoops down on me and hugs me, crushing the breath out of me, a hug that tells me how worried he is, for me and Satoshi and all of us. I close my eyes for a moment, let myself feel safe in someone's arms.

“All right.” I pry myself lightly out of Aiba's grasp, and see Jun at the back of the room, glaring at me with a mixture of distrust and hope. “Aoki-san will ring around, and check Oh-chan hasn't turned up at the wrong meeting or something.” I'm pretty sure he hasn't, but it'll give Aoki-san something to do before he has a nervous breakdown. God, though, he's lucky he got Arashi – if he had to deal with Akinishi Jin and that lot, he'd be hospitalised by now.

“Sho-chan. You, um, you check that park he likes, and the places you guys go to eat.” Sho nods, turns on his heel and leaves. What else? “Someone should ask his family,” I say, and Jun gives me a terse nod. “ _Not_ his mother, whatever you do,” I tell him. “You'll start a panic. Try his sister, and _try_ to be tactful.” Jun glowers at me, but he can't exactly start a fight with Aoki-san still here. “Aiba and I...we'll check his building.” Right. A thorough plan, although god knows if it will turn anything up; how do you actually find someone if he doesn't want to be found?

“Why would Ohno-kun do this?” asks Aoki-san, looking lost. “He's always been so well-behaved, too...”

“He's in the middle of a break-up,” states Jun, baldly. I snarl at him silently.

“He what?!” Aoki-san looks incredulous. “I didn't even know he had a girlfriend!”

“He was _very_ good at hiding it,” I explain darkly.

“Not good enough,” mutters Jun, and Aiba elbows him in the side.

“Oh-chan was professional about it,” I tell Aoki-san, though it's for Jun's benefit. “He didn't let it interfere with his work. But now they've broken up...well, you know people don't think too clearly when they're unhappy...” Jun is glaring at me again.

“Ahh.” Aoki-san grabs this explanation like a life-line. “That's true, that's true. Well, we get him back, that's the main thing, and then we can sort this out.”

“Ok,” I say, and swing the spare key to the apartment around my finger. “Let's go.”

“You still have a _key_?” hisses Jun, as I sashay past him. Well, of course I do. What kind of responsible person would I be if I didn't, for emergencies? But it's none of Jun's business why I have it, so I just smirk at him and leave.

 

We rush over to the apartment, Aiba and I, me swearing at the traffic with more than my usual ire in the back of the taxi and he fielding phone calls from the others. No luck, no Satoshi. I thought, I really thought, that he'd be having a rare sulk or a little freak-out at one of his usual haunts, or just comfort-eating ramen until it came out of his ears. But he's not, and I'm getting really uneasy, because I've seen how Satoshi is under stress, but never how he deals with trauma.

“Are you really not seeing Leader any more?” asks Aiba dubiously, as I stick the key in the lock.

“No, I am not,” I tell him bitterly, pushing the door open and bracing myself against a wave of memories. “Oh-chan is too honest for that.”

“Bad luck for you,” says Aiba. I grunt and kick my shoes off, and though I know it's impossible I'm half expecting him to come to the door and kiss me, in his apron, maybe, or his beautiful cheap velvet sweat-pants.

“Oh-chan!” I call.

“Leader!” echoes Aiba, darting past me to nose around the apartment. My feet lead me through the living-room and into our bedroom – his bedroom – and I have to grit my teeth at the flood of painful nostalgia that hits me. I sit down on the bed heavily, the sheets smell like Satoshi, and I close my eyes. Satoshi, you are an idiot for thinking that we could stay in each other's lives and not be _everything_ to each other, that we could be bandmates and expect to carry on without something like this happening. I breathe in deeply.

When I open my eyes I see Aiba standing in the doorway, watching me quietly, with a look of dwelling understanding on his open face.

“Come on, Nino,” he says kindly. “This isn't helping anything.” I nod dully, and get up to help him search.

“I don't even know what I'm looking for,” he complains after a while, frustration and worry overlying his resolute optimism.

“Me neither,” I tell him, clearing paper into a pile by force of habit – without me around, Satoshi has really let the tidying go to pot. “Call him again,” I suggest. Aiba does so, then shakes his head. “Out of range.”

“Fuck.” I stride into the kitchen, running my hands through my hair distractedly. I grab a glass of water, down it, and slam the glass down on the worktop. Ahh. I remember: this is where Satoshi first persuaded me round to the idea of pleasurable pain. I sigh. I wonder what would have happened if he hadn't? I bet we wouldn't be where we are right now. But my life wouldn't be as rich, there would be a part of me missing, even though I didn't know it, and -

Wait a minute. Wait just a minute. I turn and stare at the fridge door, littered with old reminder notes from me to Satoshi, held on with Anpanman magnets. I reach out and snatch at a piece of paper, in Satoshi's pretty handwriting. I squint at it.

Fuck. I know where he is.

I stuff the paper in my pocket and run out into the hall, yanking the cupboard doors open. Well, his fishing stuff is still here, so he can't have emigrated. But one thing is missing. Ahh. Curiouser and curiouser.

“Aiba,” I yell, my heart beginning to race with the possibility. “Lock up when you're done!”

“What?!” exclaims Aiba, sticking his head round the door. “Where are you going?!”

“Just to see,” I tell him excitedly.

“But -”

“If I'm right, I'll be bringing Oh-chan back!” I tell him, and with that I stuff my shoes on and run, literally run out the front door. I'm right, I know I'm right – and if not, then I am really scared.

 

Two hours later (yes, the driver got lost, this place is a warren), I'm clenching my jaw unhappily, trying to work out whether I'm ecstatic or totally miserable. I have, or at least I think I have, found Satoshi. On the minus side, I have to _get_ to him, and it's the getting there that I'm not looking forward to. I grasp my precious piece of paper, and look around nervously.

“We took him over yesterday evening,” confirms Harada-san, who is about six feet tall with an even more impressive tan than Satoshi.

“You mean he's been there _all night_?” I say, incredulously. “But there's nobody there at night!”

“He said that was the point,” says Harada-san. I stare at the paper again. I suppose it is. “He's got his tent, anyway, we wouldn't let him stay by himself with just _nothing_.”

“Um, yes, I'm sure you wouldn't.” The men around Harada-san nod strenuously in agreement. I don't care how much Satoshi likes them, I will never be entirely at ease among fishermen; they're way too outdoorsy and tall, and they make me feel like a wimp in comparison. We keep talking, and for the life of me I can't work out how Satoshi fitted in here, a baby-faced little doll in the middle of all these rough-handed giants. I suppose fish brings people together, or something like that.

That's where I am, of course: at the docks, at the berth Satoshi's reminder so carefully labelled. And this is my prospective method of transport for reaching him: a tiny little boat (to me, anything smaller than the Titanic is too small) that smells of tuna. It's all I can do to persuade Harada-san that I need to see Satoshi, _now_ , that he's waiting for me. Because he is. I know it.

We get on the boat, which is apparently a leisurely craft, bobbing up and down and saying hello to every other vessel she meets while obeying the insanely complex rules of the nautical road. Typical; Satoshi would pick the two points at the furthest distance in sea-miles for his little escape from reality, as Harada-san explains when he tells me it's going to take another two hours to navigate the shipping lanes. So that's two hours of me trying not to be sick, both with worry and this bloody boat, in between listening to various members of the crew wax lyrical over Satoshi's sweetness, his patience, how much he can drink, how well he can reel in a fish for someone so small. Yes, yes, I know all that!

Eventually they leave me alone for a moment, and I sink down on deck, pulling the paper from my pocket. I should have guessed it sooner; he always used to talk about it, I think he wanted it more than I did, for it to happen for real. At the top of the page, above the address of the boat and a little drawing, are the words: _Deserted Island_.

The wind picks up; the sun is getting towards late afternoon, and when I look up because I'm feeling nauseous again, I finally see it in front of me, Sarushima. And even though I'm the furthest thing away from a romantic that could be imagined, I smile.

Somewhere, in the middle of that blue water and greenery, Satoshi is waiting for me.


	17. Chapter 17

This island, I reflect as I struggle up a narrow stone road, is not exactly deserted. To be sure, it has sandy beaches and rocky little cliffs and lush woods, everything you'd want for the idyllic shipwreck; but it also has several hundred tourists, barbecuing by the sea and wandering around the paths, not to mention the sea birds ready to attack and pillage any unwary passer-by. As I'm arriving, though, they're leaving – the last ferry back to mainland Tokyo is at five-thirty, and the staff are almost all gone by seven. So it's getting quiet, now, and I'm off the main roads, and by the look of this one it'll soon be gone altogether.

This is all well and good. If I knew where Satoshi actually _was_. But I don't. After having helped me ashore and thanked me for not actually throwing up on deck, Harada-san just shrugged, and said they'd set him down on the far side of the island, away from the tourist areas. That's quite a large swathe of land. For all I know he might not even be here at all; he might have got bored with the idea, he might have been terrified by a bat and gone back on the ferry sometime today. Well, there's only one way to find out, seeing as there really isn't any phone reception on this side of the island.

It's very pretty here, actually, especially with the sun starting to go down. I decide not to bother stumbling through the woods, they're too thick to pitch a tent, but walk along the low, shallow cliff, peering around as I begin to circumnavigate the island. I'm getting kind of hungry, actually, but the cafés are all on the other side and they'll be closed now, anyway. I don't think I've ever been so utterly _by myself_. It's ever so quiet. I hum a bit to myself, and all I can hear is me and the seagulls, and the waves falling gently onto the sand. This could take all night. I could get lost here and never find my way back, never mind find Satoshi. This could -

Or maybe it won't. I see a speck of red, further up ahead, amid a little clump of bushes. Ah. Bingo...I think. I know that tent, having spent the best part of three hours trying to put the bloody thing up in the living-room, at Satoshi's request, when he'd decided we should take another team-building trip down to Okinawa (no, not the Toma kind of team-building, the regular kind). I never thought he'd get round to using it. I speed up. When I reach the tent, he isn't there. He's been there, though; I crawl inside and see his iPod, his torch, his sleeping bag that smells like him. Well, he'll come back.

I wander away from the tent, towards the grassy rocks that form what passes for a cliff at this point of the island. The wind is blowing gently now, it feels good on my hot forehead and limbs. If I was at all a nature person, this would be like paradise.

“Nino.” I look to my left. Satoshi is there, sitting comfortably on a sandy rock, looking down on the deserted beach and acting quite unsurprised to see me. I feel something in my heart leap quietly: his face really is golden in the sunset, eyes soft and dark, his small frame loose and relaxed with the absence of people or anything that might remind him of people.

“Oh-chan,” I say simply. He doesn't ask me to sit next to him, but his quiet feels like an invitation, so I do, not touching him, just feeling his warmth radiate all along my side. He doesn't speak, watches the sea, and I watch him as the sun gets lower, the wind blowing away the insects that are just drawn like...well, like flies, to my oh-so-white skin. Eventually he turns and gives me one of his little smiles.

“Well,” I tell him, “you scared the shit out of everyone.”

“I thought they might worry,” he says regretfully, as though his running off in the middle of the week was just a mild nuisance. “But I knew you'd come and find me.”

“You know you're not supposed to stay here at night,” I say, as if that mattered, as if it isn't a minor miracle that I've made it here at all. He just gives a little shrug, still smiling.

“I wanted to think.”

“And did you?” I ask. Only Satoshi would need a totally unpopulated place that puts out a boatful of fishermen for two hours to get him there to _think_. Then again, only Satoshi could get away with it.

“Yes.” He doesn't elaborate.

“So...are we going back, or not?” I wonder if he grasps the weight of those words, because I'm saying them seriously, and the fact that I'm serious scares the hell out of me. I'm out of my depth, now; I need him to lead me.

“I love Arashi,” says Satoshi quietly, after a minute, the wind blowing his hair back. “I don't want to lose it. But it's not everything I can be. When I was young,” he continues, taking my hand absently, and my nerves ripple at the touch, “I thought it would only last a little while. I used to wonder what I'd do afterwards, I had ideas. And then I fell for Arashi, and I forgot about them. But they're still there, Nino, and if I can't have what I want now, if I can't have you and Arashi both at once, I'll _leave_ , and it won't kill me.”

I look at him and he's crying, but he's smiling at me too. I fold him in my arms and he leans against me.

“I don't want you to leave,” I whisper, and he nods tearfully. “But if this is the only way, then we'll both go. But we shouldn't have to!”

“Ah.” Satoshi tucks his head under my chin, and sighs heavily. “Then I have to talk to Jun.”

We stay on Sarushima that night – not that we have a lot of choice – tucked into his little tent, crowded tight against each other as if we were still teenagers: no sex, no pain, just simple closeness against loneliness and fear of what comes next, talking softly about Satoshi's bread-shop dreams. We spend the next morning on the island, early, playing in the sea, walking, eating onigiri, which is all Satoshi managed _not_ to stuff his face with the day before. When the first people appear, we take the ferry home.  
  
  


* * *

 

We head straight for the Jimusho, after getting lost yet again because Satoshi, as a non-driver, is hopeless at giving directions.

“I'm calling Aoki-san,” Jun tells him, the moment he sets eyes on us, dishevelled and full of sand and generally looking as if we've been dragged through a hedge backwards.

“ _Don't_ ,” Satoshi snaps, and Jun's head jerks up from his phone, looking almost shocked at the sharp tone of his voice. “This is between us, Jun-kun, the five of us. It has _nothing_ to do with anyone else.” Jun purses his lips, fingers still on the keypad. “If you do,” continues Satoshi, “then I will walk out of this room and you will never see me in Arashi again.” A moment of silence, tension crackling in the air, because I'm not the only one who knows Satoshi, knows when he's being deadly serious.

“I just meant everyone has been worried,” mutters Jun, and he looks it, pale and exhausted. “They should know you're safe.”

“I've always been safe,” Satoshi tells him categorically.

“Satoshi-kun? Oh, thank _god_!” The swiftly escalating glaring match is interrupted by Sho, who flings himself on Satoshi as soon as he comes into the room, crushing the breath out of him in a bear hug.

“Sho-chan...” Satoshi buries his face in Sho's shoulder, and I can tell he's closer to falling apart under this affection right now than he is under Jun's fury. “I'm all right, Sho-chan,” he says quietly, when Sho gives him space to breathe. “I needed to think about some things, that's all. But I'm back now.”

“That's all that matters,” exclaims Sho, his hands on Satoshi's shoulders as if he's afraid he'll vanish again. Satoshi gives him a wobbly smile, but when he speaks his soft voice is steady.

“No,” he tells him. “I have to talk to you. All three of you. And this time you're going to listen.”

 

Satoshi takes the lead, showing us into another of the Jimusho's maze of empty rooms. But he stops me outside the door, shutting it on the other three.

“Um...Can you wait outside, Nino?” he asks, biting his lip at whatever expression has ended up on my face. “Just...just while I tell them. They have to know this comes from _me_ , that I do actually have a mind of my own. You know?”

“I know,” I say reluctantly, my hands rubbing his shoulders comfortingly. “Will you be all right?”

“If I need you,” he promises, leaning in to be kissed, “I'll call.” I nod, and in he goes, leaving the door slightly ajar, which is just as well because I have every intention of eavesdropping.

“Where did you _go_?” asks Sho immediately, a very motherly mixture of worry and disapproval in his voice. I peer round the door surreptitiously and see Satoshi shrug.

“Just...somewhere I wanted to go. For a long time. Somewhere with _no people_.” I imagine Jun takes this as the slight it's meant to be.

“Except Nino,” he snaps. “Evidently _he_ was invited to your little party. After everything you promised, Leader!”

“ _No_ , Jun-kun!” snaps Satoshi back, and everyone blinks. “I didn't invite him, I didn't tell him I was going, he didn't know any more than you did!” Jun snorts. “But he _found me_ ,” continues Satoshi, his voice trembling with the effort of trying to make Jun understand the significance of what he's saying. “He looked, and he came, and he found me. I love you, all of you, you know that; but no-one else could have done it.” Aiba is nodding away, while Jun looks like he doesn't accept it for one moment. Satoshi sighs earnestly. “Because Nino _knows_ me, better than anyone else. He knows what I want, what makes me happy, and ever since we've been together like this he's spent every bit of his effort making sure I get it.” Well. Don't I feel like a saint!

“Leader,” interrupts Jun, looking vaguely appalled at this emotional logic, “that is hardly the point!”

“Then what _is_ the point?” Satoshi stares Jun right in the face, looking petrified and determined. “Jun-kun...I know you love me; I know you want me to be happy.”

“I _do_ ,” says Jun vehemently. “So I wish you'd just do as you're told!” Sho frowns at this, and Aiba lets out a little laugh. That's a nice bit of irony right there, Jun.

“I've never asked for anything, you know,” Satoshi says, dry-eyed, arms folded, his round face pale. Sho purses his lips worriedly, and Jun just scowls. “All this time, I've done whatever I'm told to by everyone. And it's fine, I don't mind, it's best like that, you're right. But this one thing,” he brings his arms down, clenching his fists, and I can see his hands are shaking, “I want it. It's all I want. _Please_.”

“But -” says Sho, ready with a slew of brilliant objections, I'm sure, but Jun cuts in over him.

“No,” states Jun, looking miserable and furious, “you have to choose, Leader.”

“Actually,” retorts Satoshi, “ _you_ have to choose. I know you want to protect me, Jun-kun. But you're not, you're just hurting me!” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, willing himself to calm. “So you can either accept it, that I love Nino and everything we do together. Or you can tell everyone, if you think that's best, and you know what that means. I'll have to leave, and maybe Nino as well, and Arashi will be broken but I will _still be with him_.”

I lean my head back against the wall; I can feel a lump in my throat at what Satoshi is prepared to give up to be with me. I've never seen him this sure, this articulate, and if I thought I loved him before, it suddenly hits me a hundred times harder. I am _so proud_ of him, the man he's grown up to be from the scared, silent kid ten of years ago. Looking back in, I see Aiba giving Satoshi a watery smile, and I know he's moved by what he's saying even though he's terrified about what could happen. Sho still looks unhappy, but he's nodding, Sho was always one to be swayed by a logical argument.

“It's not a hard choice, is it, Jun-kun?” says Satoshi softly, and Jun's head snaps up, eyes wide.

“I _can't_ let you,” he growls. “How can I live with it, to stand by and watch you being hurt?!” Satoshi gives him a tiny smile, and walks towards him, looks up at him.

“Then don't,” he tells him, and the smile gets broader, and if Satoshi has any weapon against Jun at all it's _this_. “Stand by and watch me be happy.” At this, Sho and Aiba both give a sigh. Sappy bastards, but then look at me, I'm practically crying out here. It takes Jun a minute for the words to sink in, and then he sits down abruptly, shaking his head. I'm not too sure what this means, but Satoshi just looks at him, quiet and understanding.

“It'll be all right,” he tells him, and his voice is sweet and utterly sure, the voice of our Leader when he finally decides to lead.

“I'm scared,” whispers Jun, and Satoshi doesn't hesitate, just steps forward to cradle his head in his arms, stroking the silky black hair as if Jun was still the kid we first knew, all those years ago, and there, I can finally see my friend again. “I'm scared, Leader.”

“What of?” asks Satoshi, curiously. Jun takes a deep breath.

“Of people finding out. Of you having to go through another scandal, a hundred times worst than the last one, _Satoshi_ , we don’t live in the kind of world where people would accept this! Of something happening to Arashi, I can't let that happen!” Satoshi makes vague shushing noises, still petting Jun's hair. Jun looks up at him. “I'm scared of _you_ , Leader. I don't understand you any more. I'm scared I don't know you at all...”

“Silly,” says Satoshi, still smiling calmly. “I'm still me. Just...with added extras.” Jun sinks his head back against Satoshi's warm stomach.

“I don't know what to do!”

“You don't have to do anything, Jun-kun,” Satoshi reassures him. “I'll look after you. I can look after all of you; if Nino can look after _me_.”

I take this as my cue and slip into the room quietly. Aiba gives me a tearful thumbs-up, and Sho just shrugs at me helplessly, evidently still bowled over by Satoshi's unexpected eloquence.

“Jun,” I say softly, because I can see it now, beneath all the anger, that more than anything he's the band baby, and he's afraid. “Can't we try? Everyone, together. Can't we make this work?”

Jun looks up at me.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well! It's finally...er, the final chapter.  
> Ready for smut and shocking amounts of cheese? Course you are!
> 
> Including more fanart (by me).

“Welcome home.”  
Satoshi opens the door, takes my hand, and leads me inside. I don't think any two words have ever sounded so sweet to me (though at the same time I make a mental note to get my key back off Aiba, because letting him have access to the place where I have sex doesn't bear thinking about). I was only here twenty-four hours ago, but it's completely different now: this is my home again, with everything that entails.

I follow Satoshi through to the living-room, my fingers lingering on his, because if these last weeks have taught me anything it's to make the most of every tiny touch he allows me. We stand there quietly for a minute, and I look around, trying to see if anything has changed. Well, I'll definitely have to get tidying, Satoshi is still a lazy creature. But not just yet.

“Oh-chan,” I say, and lean forward to press my lips lightly against his, and he smiles beneath my mouth, both of us revelling in the feeling of permitted kisses again; his mouth is warm and eager beneath mine, the slightest bit hesitant, maybe, as if he's still incredulous at the fact we're being allowed to do this at all. “Take off your clothes,” I tell him softly, and he shivers happily and nods against my lips, and this time I actually take the time to watch him: he shrugs off his check shirt, and peels away the tshirt underneath, and as usual the contrast between his tan and his torso makes me grin, even as I'm drawing in my breath at how lovely he is, messy hair and all. I find myself licking my lips as he unbuttons his pants, slowly, his long fingers as elegant and delicate as ever, because even though it's only been weeks it feels like an age since I've seen this.

“Everything, right now?” Satoshi asks, and he knows perfectly well he's teasing me.

“Everything,” I confirm, and he gives me a little grin and steps out of his pants and his underwear, looking down at himself casually while I drink him in.

“I'm all sandy, still,” he says vaguely. I swallow.

“Doesn't matter.” Satoshi nods, and sinks to his knees, gazing up at me with those dark, dark eyes, and it's been such a long time that the sight gives me chills.

“Nino,” he says, a world of affection and permission in the word. “What do you want me to do?” I shake my head, because I can't think, I drop to my own knees and sweep him into my arms, tumbling us down to the carpet, his skin pressed against me all along my body, and I kiss him. I must be the luckiest man alive, to be able to do this again after so nearly losing it for good.

Satoshi sighs a little into the kiss as I deepen it, not a lot of skill coming from my end, I'm afraid, just untidy passion, my hands touching him everywhere, reminding myself of every inch of him. After a while I tear my mouth away from his, reluctantly, because I don't think I can ever have too much of kissing Satoshi, having experienced what it's like _not_ kissing him. But there are compensations; I trail my lips over his chin, down his throat, his legs are already parting naturally, clinging to my hips, and I can tell he feels exactly the same as me, that he's been living through a drought that's only just coming to an end.

“Oh-chan, Oh-chan,” I whisper, not having anything better to say, my mouth moving against his midriff, his flat stomach, his thighs; he whimpers a little as my fingers find his nipples, pinching them hard, the way he likes it. Satoshi is tugging at my clothes, his fingers for the moment unable to work such a complicated mechanism as a button, his lips meeting my skin every place they can reach. I help him out and wriggle out of my shirt, then my pants; I go back to touching him, his ass, between his legs, anything that will get him ready for me in the shortest time possible, because I don't want to wait any longer for this.

“Do you still have...” I manage, Satoshi's hands finding their target and making me groan with the feeling.

“It's...wherever you left it,” Satoshi replies, guessing what I mean, and I drag myself away from him to find the lube, finally locating it down the back of the sofa.

“Not exactly houseproud, are you, Oh-chan,” I remark as I coat my fingers, and he grits his teeth happily, sighing as I push them slowly into him.

“No...point,” he says unevenly, fingers buried in the carpet as I move gently, as deep as I can to open him up for me. “I've got... _you_.” I throw him a wry smile and add a third finger to hear him gasp.

“You're an _awful_ submissive,” I tell him, listening to his little moans, and he manages to give me a grin before my short fingers finally reach his sweet spot and he arches his back, screwing his eyes shut.

“ _Now_ ,” he begs, his arms reaching for me, “please, Nino, now!”

“All right,” I tell him, withdrawing my fingers, enjoying his panting, flushed little form for a moment. “Just let me go get a-”

Satoshi shakes his head, clinging to me in a fever of impatience, and I know how he feels.

“You don't need one, Nino, just once, fuck me just as you are, _once_...” I consider this, because it'd be a first time for me, and all I want is to keep Satoshi safe and healthy; but I'm damn sure Satoshi hasn't been sleeping with anyone else, and neither have I, obviously.

“All right,” I tell him, “just this once.” He leans up and kisses me, hard, his tongue brushing mine wickedly, and I don't wait any longer but slide into him, gently, and his eyes open wide because it's been a long time since we've done this. Actually, it doesn't really feel any different with a condom or without one, but I can see that the mental distinction is turning Satoshi on terribly.

“I'm ok,” he reassures me when I pause, letting him get used to me, trying to reacquaint myself with how spectacular it feels to be this close to him. I nod, his arms wound around my neck, and begin to move, supporting his lower back with one hand while the other touches him sporadically, teasingly, because I want to last as long as I can and the sight of him coming might be too much for me.

“Oh-chan,” I whisper, speeding up, taking in his arched neck, his pretty head thrown back, “I love you, I _love you_...” Satoshi moans unsteadily, bites down on my unwisely wandering hand as I caress his mouth, stopping himself crying out as I go deeper, his face and narrow torso glimmering with sweat.

“Nino...tell me again,” he pleads, when he finally lets go of my hand.

“I love you,” I say again, between pants, “I'll tell you as many times as you like, Oh-chan, you're fucking _amazing_ , you're the best I've ever had, _I love you_...” Satoshi smiles blissfully, and that smile all by itself is too much to bear.

“I'm...gonna come, Oh-chan,” I whisper, “is it ok?”

“ _Please_ ,” murmurs Satoshi, nuzzling his head against my neck, somehow managing to get even tighter, and I do, his eyes widening at the sensation, long fingernails painful on my back but I don't care, he's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and for a moment it's unbelievable to me that after nearly eleven years of friendship we could have come to something so wonderful. I sink down, breathless, and wrap him in my arms, feels like it's close enough to suffocate but he doesn't seem to mind, pressing himself against me needily.

“Are you all right?” I ask, running my fingers through his damp hair, the soft strands at the nape of his neck where it's been cut.

“Touch me,” he pleads, pushing himself closer so I can feel him hard against my thigh. I ought to, really, seeing as it's been just as long for him as it has for me. But it's not only this I've been missing.

“In a little while,” I promise him, half sitting up and taking in the sight, his flushed skin, sticky thighs, his small nipples red where I've bitten them. I'm going to have to clean the carpet, aren't I. “I want to play with you first.” Satoshi shudders, like he always does, with anticipation. “You didn't throw it all away, did you?” I check, wincing at how expensive it will be to replace everything if he did. He shakes his head, his hands tangled in mine.

“Good.” I stand up, drawing myself away from him reluctantly, and go to rummage around in the cupboard, returning with my arms full. When I come back, Satoshi is kneeling again, patient (well, pretending to be patient) and obedient, only the quick upward flicks of his eyes betraying how eager he is for me to begin.

I push the coffee table out of the way with my foot, and put everything down, lining up the coils of soft rope; crimson this time, and if I were a totally cheesy bastard I'd say something about the red thread of destiny; but I'm not, so I don't. I run my hands over Satoshi's shoulders, the memories leaping forward to my fingertips, and I still know how to do this.

“Lie down,” I tell him, because although his back is a smooth, mark-free canvas once again, I'm not going to rush into beating him, not so soon. He reclines peacefully on the rug and I smooth my hands across his back, down his spine, massaging him gently until he's loose and pliant and tingling.

“Come on,” he mutters into the carpet, and I aim a swat at his backside, as if that were a deterrent. I tie his body first, across his chest, his arms folded behind his back; he wriggles.

“You look like a fish in a net,” I tell him, amused, running my fingernails lightly over the skin below his belly-button. He practically purrs, and I push him back down on his front and tie his ankles together, tickling the soles of his feet, which makes him shiver, Satoshi's feet were always very sensitive.

“Still feeling ok?” I tilt his head towards me so I can kiss him. He nods dreamily, so I take another length of rope and stretch it between his bound ankles and the one already wrapped around his back, pulling it taut so his legs lift up. Now he's curved like a little backwards shrimp, and I have to admit, he's looking pretty edible right about now. I talk to him as I wrap the spare rope around the tight line running from his ankles to where his hands are tied, and there. That's pretty. I guess there are plenty of other things I could do to him, pressure points I could tie knots over that would drive him crazy if I left him; but I don't want to leave him alone this time, _I_ want to make him squirm.

I rummage around in the box, and he looks up at me serenely, with the speechlessness that kinbaku seems to put him into. Ah, there's my pinwheel. I kiss him on the calf, it's the closest part of his body at the moment, and rest one hand familiarly on his perfect little behind. He makes a comfortable noise, until I start running the silver wheel up the back of his thigh, the little spikes pricking him as it turns, when he starts to wriggle beneath it; but there's absolutely nowhere he can go. I place my right hand in the small of his back to hold him down, as the wheel travels up his sensitive sides, he's letting out short, sharp whimpers into the rug, which turn to frantic little sounds and writhing around when I run it lightly over the arches of his feet.

“Cute,” I tell him happily, once I put it down, leaving him gasping for breath and with his long nails digging into his own elbows. I push him over gently on his side, cupping his cheek, stroking my thumb over his cheekbone until he relaxes and looks up at me expectantly. He's still hard, even after that, so I touch him for a bit and he sighs gratefully. Once it looks like he's enjoying himself too much, though, I stop. I want this to last.

“You know,” I say thoughtfully, as I delve down to the bottom of the box to find the clips that screw onto his nipples, “...six months ago, if you'd told me I'd risk my career, my sanity and being _seasick_ just so I could tie you up and torture you...I'd have laughed in your face, Oh-chan.” Satoshi gasps and screws up his face as I attach the clamps to him, tight and cold.

“...Yeah?” he says, and I flick at them with my fingernail, tugging them gently to make him groan. He opens his eyes. “But...you don't regret it?” he asks in a small voice. I take a long look at him, bound and hurting and happy.

“I don't regret anything that has to do with you,” I tell him, and he crinkles his eyes up at me. Satoshi is...just beautiful. I think I'll just play a bit more. I unwrap one of his squicky alien sex toys, and he bites his lip as I coat it with lube. Better get some more soon, I think, squeezing the end of the tube. Maybe I'll let Aiba do it, he'll get a kick out of that, the pervert.

“It's...been a really long time,” breaks in Satoshi, sounding nervous, “I don't know if I -”

“Shh,” I say peremptorily, giving his cock a squeeze. That shuts him up. “You know I won't do anything you don't like.” He gives up and closes his eyes, going very still as I prop his leg up and slide the toy inside him, and there, that was easy enough.

“See?” I tell him. He opens an eye suspiciously, then stifles a moan when his suspicions are confirmed as I flick its small remote, the quiet electronic noise probably very little indication of what it's doing to him inside.

I spend a long time kissing him after that, enjoying the movements of his mouth when I vary the speed on the remote. He can't hold me, obviously, but I wrap an arm around him, the other teasing between his legs, stroking, squeezing, stopping, occasionally pulling out another tool from the box to taunt him, flogging him lightly across his stomach and the front of his thighs, and the combination of the pain and the toy inside him eventually makes him cry. I know it's time, then, and take him in my mouth, and he comes, finally, wordless and beautiful.

We lie there afterwards, sated and sticky and having made a total mess of the living-room (not that it could get much messier). I untie Satoshi when his feet begin to go to sleep, very slowly, rolling him over to look at the marks that remind me of who he is, of what we are together. Not too bad this time, just the rope imprints and light lines of the flogger, and some mild carpet burn. I kiss him, everywhere I've marked him, and he clings to me, wiping his eyes and beaming at the same time.

I've just put Satoshi in the bath when Aiba rings, for a blow-by-blow (no pun intended, in either sense) account of our making up session. I tell him to bugger off, and he takes in the satisfied tone of my voice and hangs up, laughing. I have a quick wash, checking Satoshi hasn't fallen asleep while I'm at it, then throw some shorts on and go to start dinner, tripping over Satoshi's watercolour box on the way. He's made such a clutter...where the hell am I gonna put all my stuff when I bring it back?

These mundane thoughts, boring as I'm sure they are to sit through, actually make me very happy; to know that I can begin thinking about _our_ life together, even in its dullest details, causes a stupid grin to spread across my face as I'm chopping carrots. I'll say it again: I must be the luckiest man alive.

“Oh-chan,” I muse, once he's out of the bath and we're sitting on the floor in front of the TV, dishes balanced on cushions around us, “I think we should find a bigger place.”

“Eh?” says Satoshi, with his mouth full.

“I mean...now we're official.” I think about this. “Well, secret official.”

“You want me to move _again_?” asks Satoshi, aghast. “I've done it once already this year!”

“And look what came out of it,” I remind him, leaning over to pinch his ass. “Just _think_ of all the lovely things I might do to you in a place where I can hang you from the ceiling.” Satoshi makes a considering face.

“I'll think about it,” he says, squeezing tighter into my space. I kiss him, soft and light and loving.

“It's your decision, Oh-chan,” I tell him.

And it always is.

 

* * *

 

Six months later, the five of us stand under the lights and screams and cheers of Tokyo Dome. I look over at Aiba and Sho, who are already holding hands, grinning and squinting and sweating like maniacs. Then at Satoshi, who will be thirty in five days' time and is swelling with health and happiness, plain to see even at a glance. I take his hand, rubbing my thumb across his knuckles, and know that, with luck, I'll still be holding it in fifty years' time. I look to my right, and Jun is there, gazing at me solemnly. I hold out my free hand; for a long second he just looks at me. Then he takes it, clasps it tight, his long, warm fingers full of friendship and finally acceptance. He smiles at me.

We all raise our arms, an unbroken chain, and accept the cheers. I love us; I love Satoshi; I love my life. This perfect life.  
  


 

 


End file.
